I look out at the canyon, the tears blurring the view.Forgive the girl you were.
I close my eyes and picture her—twenty-one, terrified, waking up in a hospital bed alone. I’ve been so angry at her. For leaving. For being weak. For hiding.
I forgive you,I think, projecting the thought into the vast, empty space.You survived. You got us here.
A weight I didn't know I was carrying lifts from my chest, carried away by the canyon wind.
I take a deep breath, and for the first time, the air fills my lungs completely.
* * *
Della
Las Vegas: More than survival
After two more days of red dust and silence, and another online session with Dr. Davis we leave the canyon for the screaming neon chaos of the Strip. It’s jarring, ridiculous, expensive, and exactly what we need.
We stop at a gas station to fill the tank when my phone pings with a notification. My banking app. I stare at the screen, eyes widening. Dorian has wired a very generous amount into my account. Enough to buy a brand new car.
My thumb hovers over the transfer button, ready to send it back, when a new message from him slides onto the screen.
Don’t send it back, Della. Please.Enjoy it with Silvia. Gamble it, if you like. Have fun. Money means nothing to me if I cannot see you happy.I just want to know you are smiling again.
I bite my lip, torn.
"Chiquita, Dorian sent money. A lot of it."
Silvia peeks at the screen.
“Wow!” Then looks at me and softens her voice “I think it’s his way of being close to you when he’s not, Della.”
I look at the phone.I just want to know you are smiling again.
I take a deep breath and shove the guilt aside.
“Then let’s have fun, Chiquita! I always dreamt of staying in a Fountain View suite at the Bellagio.”
Silvia’s eyes light up.
“Now you’re talking,” and continues with a childish, innocent funny face. “Can we add room service and a show at Caesars Palace while we’re at it?”
I grin, linking my arm through hers.
“I have a better idea.”
* * *
Two and a half hours later, we are transformed.
We hit the Valentino boutique like a hurricane. Now, we stand in front of the full-length mirror in our suite.
Silvia is in a silver, dangerous slip dress. And me... I’m in a sleek, liquid gold cocktail dress, maybe a little too short. Definitely too expensive.
And I feel… beautiful.
"Okay," Silvia says, holding up her phone. "Selfie time."
We strike a pose—fierce, laughing, alive.
