I stare at the screen like it might soften, blur. Like she might email again to say she’s sorry, that she doesn’t know why she said that, and of course she’ll meet. That she’s been dying to talk about this.
We’re supposed to be in this fight together. That’s how I’ve always seen it going, when I imagined the eventual ending. All of us—arm in arm—standing up for what’s right. Speaking the truth. Demanding justice.
But no such email arrives, no matter how many times I refresh my inbox.
Eventually, I close the laptop. I stand in silence while everything in me begs to scream.
I leave the dorm because if I stay here, staring at my laptop, I’m going to lose my mind. It’s not late enough for the campus to be empty, but it feels empty anyway. The air is heavy with cold mist and the kind of silence that makes every footstep, every breath, sound suspicious.
I walk without any sense of where I’m going. I’m just moving, just breathing, just trying to hold it together while it feels like the walls are crashing down around me.
It’s only one rejection. Only one voice. The others might come through for me. I just have to hold onto hope.
I have no idea where I’m going until I’m already there—on the lawn outside the Solace Garden where Ralston’s fireside chat was held two nights ago. It’s empty now. Quiet. Like it’s meant to be.
This place is designed for reflection. Meditation. Peaceful thoughts. Once, they held poetry readings here on Friday nights, silent book clubs throughout the week, and a gardening club on the weekends.
That was back before Ralston’s name became more important than the women who came before her. The women whose work used to be read here.
The air tastes like metal. Rust.
I take a seat on one of the concrete benches and barely feel the cold soaking into my skin. I’m tired. Not just from today, but from years of carrying this weight. This anger, with no place for it to go. This grief.
I’m tired of fighting, of begging, of whispering when all I want to do is scream. I’m tired of the person she turned me into, this shadow of myself with my eyes trained only on revenge. On justice. I miss who I used to be, the girl who walked this path before me. Who came to this campus full of hope, who believed in happy endings and dreams coming true.
I’m tired of watching the same old machine devouring women who try to say no and spitting them out as warnings.Cautionary tales.
That’s all I am now. And I had no say in it. Fight back, and I look insane. Stay silent, and I fade away as nothing more than a warning.
A footnote.
The jealous girl who couldn’t let it go.
I don’t hear the footsteps until they’re too close to ignore. “Ms. Parks.”
The voice slices through the dark, stabbing me in my weakest points. Polished. Measured.Male.
I look over to find Dean Carlyle staring at me, both hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. He doesn’t sit. “I understand you disrupted today’s mentorship roundtables.”
I don’t say anything. What is there to say? I know what’s coming.
“I’ve already warned you about this. What is it you want? You’re walking a dangerous line, and I’m trying to help you.”
Hope as thin as thread weaves its way into my chest. He’s not asking me to leave. Not yet.
My voice is low. “That’s what I want. Tohelp. Why is that so hard?”
His smile is stiff. “But don’t you see? That’s what events like these are for. If that’s your goal, we want the same thing. To help us all build a better future. Together.” He scrubs a hand over his face, then shakes his head with a faraway look. “But that’s not what you’re doing. You’re making people uncomfortable. You’re damaging the reputation of this institution—and its most decorated scholar.”
“Don’t you even care what she’s done?” I stare at him, looking for an ounce of empathy, a willingness to listen.
“Don’t make this your legacy.” He looks away, shifting in place. His tone is firm now. Not angry, but final. I won’t get another warning. “There are some here on campus who would rather I sent you away now, and I considered it. I did. But, taking into account the opinion of a select few, I’ve agreed to give you another chance. Don’t mistake my kindness for foolishness, Lila. This will be the last time I talk to you about this before actionis taken. Do you understand?” He turns his head just slightly, enough to see me nod. And then he’s gone. Quiet violence wrapped in university protocol. The old guard in a tailored suit.
I wonder who the select few might be? I can’t imagine anyone on campus would vouch for me.
Professor Bell’s face flashes in my mind, but it feels impossible. I don’t move from the bench even as it starts to mist rain.
Later, on my way back to my room, I check my phone—though it’s more out of habit than any form of hope.
