Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it—the username, the fake bio, the blurred-out previews with my face slapped across them like I’d chosen this. Like I’d done it for attention. For money.
Like Ideservedit.
My parents tried. They did. But we didn’t have the kind of money that buys lawyers who make problems disappear overnight. We weren’t from old blood or private equity. We couldn’t afford a PR team or a threat of litigation.
So we waited.
And I hid.
They told me to “stay offline.” Like that could undo the damage. Like silence would fix it.
But silence only made it worse.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Just laid there, face pressed into the pillow, eyes raw, heart hollow. Every creak in the house felt like it echoed the silence on my phone. No texts. No apologies. Just the buzzing void of being canceled, erased, and picked apart.
By morning, I didn’t even pretend to get ready for school.
I stayed in bed, numb and weightless, until I heard the quiet knock at my door.
My mom came in first, followed by my dad. He looked like he hadn’t shaved. She had that kind of tired in her eyes you don’t sleep off. They sat at the edge of my bed, their hands clasped between them. Whatever this was, they’d practiced it.
“We’ve been talking,” my dad said. His voice was gentler than I’d heard in weeks. “About what happens next.”
I stared at them, barely blinking.
“You need a clean slate,” my mom whispered, brushing hair off my cheek like she used to when I was little. “A real one.”
My heart thudded, slow and unsure. “What does that mean?”
“It means… your Aunt Susan reached out,” she said. “She lives in Rhode Island now. She’s on the board of the Women’s League out there. Knows everyone.”
“She’s got a friend,” Dad added. “A secretary at a private school. Royal Oaks Prep. They might be able to pull some strings. A full scholarship,” Mom said. “I didn’t tell Susan the details just that you’ve had a rough go and need fresh ocean air.”
I blinked hard. “What?”
“It’s not official yet, but it’s moving fast,” she said. “The police are still working on getting that account shut down. It could take weeks. Months. We can’t wait. You can’t wait. You need to get away from this place—from everything that happened here.”
I sat up slowly, the blanket slipping off my shoulders. My throat tightened.
“Jade, your grades are strong. You have the recommendation letters. The coursework. All you need now is… the will.”
They were asking me to leave everything.
My room. My school. My friends—what few hadn’t ghosted me. The entire mess of my life would be left behind like a crime scene.
I could almost feel the escape hatch cracking open beneath my feet.
I could run. Start over. Try to be someone whole again.
I swallowed hard. “When would I leave?”
My mom looked at me carefully. “In two weeks. Enough time to get things in order. Pack. Say goodbye.”
Two weeks to erase Ohio.
Two weeks to become the kind of girl whodoesn’tget torn apart online.
