The first crack had occurred the first time that he saw Bulma.

        The next, when he and Bulma had made love.

        Then his son had been born and he had felt his heart soften yet again.

        But the wall was still up.  Thirty-three years of anger and pride didn’t disappear easily.  And he sensed his cold, rough exterior would always be with him.  It was him, now.
        Thirty-three years.  Two weeks ago, the thirty-third anniversary of Seboll’s death had passed.  He shook his head in disbelief.  How could it be so long?
        Sitting on a ledge of a canyon, he watched the sunrise, remembering a morning so long ago, so far away, when he had done the same thing and sighed.  He had to put the past aside.  Not forget it, he had discovered that strategy didn’t work, but he had to
accept it and move on.  He closed his eyes, leaned back, and opened his mind to Seboll’s memories for the first time.
        “Vegeta, it was always, always worth it,” Seboll had said just before he died. And the boy truly meant what he had said.  Vegeta sorted through various other memories and was astonished at how much he had affected the child’s life.  He finished and stood.
        The walls had finally been broken.  He could be whole again.

And it was time to let go.
 
 
 

*****
END
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