“How?”
She opens her mouth, closes it again. “Because I want to.”
“So do I.”
She shakes her head, half laughing, half seemingly overwhelmed. “This is too much.” Her consciousness of my financial situation is adorable and I love it.
“It’s not,” I say. “It’s exactly enough.”
She pulls me into a tight hug.
“I can’t believe this,” she says in the crook of my neck.
“You deserve the world, baby.”
She looks at me, eyes earnest with a smile, and says, “I already have it.”
CHAPTER SIX
Graduation
JULIETTE
I wake before my alarm.
Adaline is still asleep beside me, sprawled in a way that would’ve been impossible when we first moved here. Back then, she slept light. Alert. Like rest was a risk. Now her breathing is slow, deep, unguarded. One arm is slung over the pillow, hair tangled, lashes resting softly against her cheeks.
I just watch her.
It hits me all at once, heavy and sudden. It’s graduation day, years of hard work and it’s finally happening. She did this all alone, with no safety net and no parents to clap for her along the way. Just grit and stubbornness and a refusal to stop moving forward, even when it would’ve been easier to give up.
I lean over and press a kiss to her shoulder. She stirs, groaning quietly.
“Don’t,” she mutters. “Too early.”
I smile. “It’s graduation day.”
She opens one eye. “That sounds fake.”
I laugh softly. “It’s not.”
She rolls onto her side, burying her face into my neck like she’s trying to hide from it. “Can we skip it?”
“No.”
“Can I pretend it’s not happening for ten more minutes?”
I kiss her temple. “You can try.”
She sighs, then finally pushes herself upright, running a hand through her hair. “Okay. Okay. I’m up.”
The gown hangs on the wardrobe door, pressed and waiting. It looks heavier than it should. She stares at it for a long moment.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods once, then again, like she’s convincing herself. “I just didn’t think I’d ever get here.” She almost gave up a few times but always bounced back. I had no idea how grueling it was to study medicine.
I step closer and straighten the collar of her shirt, my fingers lingering. “You didn’t get here. You built here.”
