Still soft.
Still learning.
I didn’t become untouchable.
I became rooted.
And somewhere between the worst night of my life and this quiet afternoon, I learned something no one can ever take from me again:
I was never broken.
I was becoming.
Epilogue
LEO
Harvard smells like old books,wet stone, and ambition.
I didn’t notice it my first semester—not really. I was too busy pretending I belonged, too busy wearing the armor I’d been raised in. Confidence. Detachment. The last name that opened doors before I even touched the handle.
But by sophomore year, the place feels different.
Quieter.
Not because it changed—but because I did.
I’m sitting on the steps of Widener Library, scarf pulled tight against the cold, watching students cross the yard in clusters. Some laughing. Some arguing. Some alone but not lonely. I used to think being alone was failure.
Turns out it’s just space.
Space to hear yourself think.
I don’t live in the mansion anymore—not really. My parents separated last spring. Not explosively. Not with lawyers and tabloid drama. Just… honestly. Two people finally admitting they’d both been lonely for a long time.
They’re happier now.
And so am I.
My mom moved into a smaller place closer to the city, joined a board she actually cares about, started painting again. My dad downsized, too—kept his study, lost the echo. We talk more now. Real conversations. No performance. No chessboard.
For the first time, I don’t feel like the prize in a marriage neither of them wanted to win anymore.
I’m just their son.
I didn’t know how heavy that weight was until it lifted.
My phone buzzes.
Jade.
No emojis. No drama. Just a picture.
Her sitting on the floor of her apartment, hair in a messy knot, highlighter marks on a textbook, socks mismatched. The window behind her glows amber with early evening light.
JADE:
Studying. You?
