Chapter 8 - THE ROAD AHEAD
Two years later.
The campus of Columbia University was painted in brilliant shades of amber, crimson, and gold. The autumn wind swept through the quad, carrying the scent of roasted nuts and old books.
I sat on a stone bench beneath a massive oak tree, a thick textbook open on my lap, a hot latte steaming by my side. I wore a heavy wool coat, designer boots, and a quiet, contented smile that I hadn't realized was permanent until a friend pointed it out.
My phone buzzed. A FaceTime call from Grandma Ruth.
I swiped to answer, and her face filled the screen. She was sitting on the sun-drenched balcony of her luxury assisted-living resort in Boca Raton, wearing massive sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat.
"Happy twentieth birthday, my darling!" she beamed, raising a mimosa to the camera.
"Thanks, Grandma," I laughed, closing my textbook. "Are you behaving down there?"
"Absolutely not," she grinned. "I'm fleecing the widowers at the poker tables. How are your classes?"
"Good. Hard, but good. Pre-law is no joke," I said. "Mr. Sterling is letting me intern at the firm next summer."
"Sterling knows talent when he sees it," Ruth said proudly. Her smile softened a fraction. "Have you heard anything from... them?"
I shook my head. "No. And I don't check anymore. Mr. Sterling manages the remaining restitution payments."
Through the firm, I knew the broad strokes. Dad was halfway through his sentence, working in the prison laundry. Mom had taken a job as a receptionist at a dental office. Tyler had dropped out of community college after one semester and was currently working as a shift manager at a warehouse, driving a beat-up, twenty-year-old sedan.
They were living the life they had originally designed for me.
"Good," Ruth said firmly. "You keep looking forward, Mara. The past is a ledger, and all the debts are settled."
We chatted for another ten minutes before she had to go to her water aerobics class. I hung up the phone and leaned back against the cold stone of the bench.
A group of friends walked by, waving to me. "Hey Mara! We're heading to the dining hall, you coming?"
"Catch up with you in a minute!" I called back.
I looked down at the keys resting next to my textbook. The sleek, black Porsche logo gleamed in the autumn sunlight. I had almost everything I could ever want. Wealth, freedom, an incredible education, and a future that belonged entirely to me.
But as I packed my bag, I remembered the thirty-four-dollar bicycle. I hadn't thrown it away. I had it restored, painted a brilliant, shimmering blue, and it now hung mounted on the wall of my Manhattan apartment.
May you like
Not as a reminder of what I lacked. But as a trophy of what I survived.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked across the quad, stepping out of the shadows of the oak trees and into the bright, unyielding sunlight. My life was finally my own, and it was beautiful.
