𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕠𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕌𝕤

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟 | ʀɪꜰᴛ

Colton

I was standing in the middle of my shop, staring down at the phone in my hand like it was a snake that had just bitten me. My dad's words still echoed in my head, the finality of them hitting me like a punch to the gut.

"Colton, I'm done financially supporting this nonsense. If you're not going to take things seriously, you're going to have to make it on your own. And if you can't, you'll be shutting that shop down and coming to work for me."

I couldn't believe it.

After everything I'd put into this place, after all the late nights, the sacrifices, and the blood, sweat, and tears, my own father was pulling the rug out from under me. And all because he thought I wasn't taking things seriously?

My hands shook with a mix of anger and disbelief as I set the phone down on the counter, my heart pounding in my chest. I could feel the weight of his words settling in, the threat hanging over me like a storm cloud.

If I didn't make it on my own, I'd have to shut down the shop. My shop. The one thing that was mine, that I'd built from the ground up...

My dad never really got it. He thought running a business was just about making money, about keeping the wheels turning and the customers happy. He didn't see the passion behind it, the love I had for creating something of my own, for building something that wasn't just about profit margins and bottom lines.

And then there was the dig about disappointing Mom. Like I hadn't already been carrying that weight around with me every damn day since she died. He always played that card these days and it never failed to stab me right in the fucking heart.

I could still hear his voice, cold and hard: "I'm not going to let you blow up this business or disappoint your mother."

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself. This shop was more than just a business to me-it was my lifeline, my connection to her. Every time I walked in here, I felt her presence, like she was still guiding me, still proud of me for going after my dream. And now Dad wanted me to just give that up? To go work for him, fixing bikes in a back room somewhere? Like I was just some kid who needed to be taught a lesson?

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I shook my head. He didn't understand... He couldn't. This shop was my way of keeping her memory alive, of proving that I could make something of myself. Something she would be proud of. My mom would understand-she was an artist, she worked with pottery and ceramics, and not a day went by that I still didn't miss the hell out of her.

But now I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the safety net I thought I had was gone.

Dad's support had been a big part of keeping this place afloat, especially when things got tough bouncing back from the fire. We didn't get any insurance money for that, it came out of my dad's pockets.

I had customers, sure, and business was growing, but it wasn't easy. There were always bills to pay, repairs to make, and orders to fill. And without Dad's financial backing, I wasn't sure how long I could keep it all going.

But there was no way in hell I was going to let him win. I wasn't going to just roll over and give up on everything I'd worked for. I wasn't going to let him tell me that I wasn't good enough, that I couldn't make it without his help.

I wasn't going to give up on my dream. Not now, not ever.

I looked around the shop, taking in the shelves lined with supplies, the workbench where I'd spent countless hours perfecting my craft, the display case with the products I'd poured my heart into creating. This was my place. My passion. And I wasn't going to let anyone take it away from me.