You’re the Boss Now

The hospital room was quiet, except for the faint hum of machines and the sound of my own breathing - shaky, uneven. It was my second day visiting Vic. I sat beside his bed, fingers wrapped around his hand, my tears spilling freely onto the sheets.

He looked at me with eyes that were tired yet still so familiar, and said softly, “I’ve left everything to Kenzo until he turns eighteen.” There was a pause, and then, with a weight I could feel in my bones, “You’re the boss now.”

Through my tears, I shook my head and whispered, “No… I don’t want to. I want you to stay.”

What did he mean by those words? That I would be the one to make the choices now - for Kenzo, for his life, for everything we’d once carried together? That the weight of both the past and the future was now mine to bear?

He didn’t explain, and I didn’t press him. Some truths are too heavy for words, and maybe he knew this was one of them. But that sentence - You’re the boss now - has been living in me ever since. It rises up when I’m unsure, when I’m tired, when I wonder how I’ll carry it all.

I never wanted to be the boss. I only wanted him to stay. But now, in his absence, I understand - it wasn’t a command. It was a passing of trust, a reminder that even without him, I can lead our little world forward.

And so I will. For Kenzo. For him. For us.

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