I will, when the time is right.
Because the truth is, I want to graduate.
God, Ireallywant it.
I’ve worked my ass off for this. Every grade, every sleepless night, every ounce of effort was mine, not my father’s name, not his money, not his power.
All mine.
And the idea of walking away before I get to cross that stage, before I hold that diploma in my own hands, feels like a loss I can’t explain. That moment shouldn’t feel out of reach. It shouldn’t feel like a luxury.
But right now, it does.
I know it’s silly because I still earned the degree. It’s just a ceremony. But it’s also the last sliver of normal I have left before my life gets ripped into limbo.
“Hey, you okay back there?” the driver asks, glancing at me through the rearview as we turn down my street.
I’ve been sobbing ever since the call with Maria ended, my chest still tight, my eyes burning. Of course, he’s concerned.
And I can only manage, “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“You sure?” he asks, clearly dubious as he pulls in front of my building.
I throw him some cash, way more than required, and just say, “Yep. I’m good now. Thanks.”
I shutthe door behind me and brace myself.
The place is dead quiet. No music, no laughter, no chatter from my friends. They’re probably out celebrating, drinking like the world isn’t collapsing.
Honestly, I prefer it that way.
I can’t bear the thought of plastering on a smile, pretending I’m fine, pretending this is just another night when everything inside me feels gutted.
The apartment is silent when I step inside. Too silent. Boxes line the walls, taped and stacked, ready for moving.
My heart sinks. This place, these rooms, have been my sanctuary. And now, it might be the last time I ever see them.
I don’t bother with the lights. The fading light through the windows is enough. I’m not staying long.
All I need is my backpack and a few essentials. Then I’m gone, off to start a new chapter of my life.
In my small bedroom at the back of the house, I shove the rack of clothes aside and reach for the backpack I’ve kept hidden.
Then, I kneel, reaching for the box of cash from under the bed.
It’s not there.
My breath stops. I turn on my phone’s flashlight and peer underneath, but it is gone.
The air thickens, and the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
Someone is here.
I stand, slowly, scanning the room, and out of the corner of my eye, a shadow emerges from the dark, tall, broad, and familiar in the worst possible way.
“Vince,” I whisper, and it’s barely audible.
He tosses the box of money onto the bed. Wrapped stacks of bills fall out.
