Twelve hours. Zero sleep. A pattern I had been doomed to repeat ever since he left.
Just me, my laptop, a legal pad, and a brain running laps on a track that went nowhere. Well…nowhere except Bumfuck, Egypt.
Mac? Playing right-hand man to his dad with the Saints. They had been making updates to the inner and outer workings of the club, literally and figuratively.
Dalton? Had considered Georgia Tech but ended up running off to University of Georgia with a fancy full-ride football scholarship, and was apparently loving it.
Maria and Diego? Baby-proofing her new apartment. Momma Laverne and my dad had pulled some strings to secure a decent, little place just ten minutes away. Maria had been reluctant at first, hesitant to accept such a large favor but I there was joy in her eyes when she first saw the place.
And Jackson? Yeah.Fucking Jackson.He left me. Us.
Fuck.
Somewhere between my third cup of coffee and contemplating whether to set my guidance counselor’s office onfire, I realized I couldn’t just…stay here. Rotting in my parents’ house. Waiting for life to happen. Once, I’d wanted to be a beauty coach. Maybe an influencer. That was a lifetime ago. Now? Just the thought made me want to gag.
So what did I want? I was flipping through that stupid career packet when it hit me. Hard. More than anything, I wanted to make a difference. To be there for the people who needed it most. Short of becoming Batman, I had an even better idea. And that’s when the doomscrolling and googling began.
Did you know 20.4% of businesses failed in the first year? And almost 70% were dead by year ten?
How fucking depressing is that?
But not mine. I didn’t have the name yet—Phoenix, Ashes Rising, Victor’s Haven—whatever. Ididknow what it would be: a shelter for women. Women like Maria. Women like me. Women who’d been used as doormats by small-dick men and were done with it. Somewhere they could get a boost. A step up. A safe place to rebuild without becoming another statistic.
For it to succeed, I needed a business degree. And the best business school in Georgia was the Terry College of Business at UGA. So, that was where I was going. Come hell or high water.
Thus the giant stack of papers I was brandishing at my confused mother who was just trying to eat her avocado toast. She blinked at me, sleep still heavily present in her own eyes. When she made no move to grab the papers, I shook them insistently at my dad who paused mid-sip of his expensive Brazilian coffee. He hesitated before taking it from me, giving me one of those long-suffering looks, and began to leaf through it.
“Bug, while I do so enjoy these games, could I get a hint?”
“I’m going to school.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “I thought you didn’t want to go to college.”
“I didn’t. But I changed my mind.”
Dad handed the papers to Mom, who took another dainty bite of her toast before scanning them. He eyed me. “Business school?”
“I’m going to start a business.”
“Yes, bug. I figured that much out.”
Mom put the papers on the table and gestured for me to sit down. “Whatever for?”
“A women’s shelter for survivors of domestic and sexual violence.”
Dad choked on his coffee, and Mom’s eyes practically pop out of her head as I took a seat and reached for the carafe. I didn’t say anything as I poured yet another cup of coffee. My dad watched me make it just the way I liked it, and I think Mom’s eye started twitching from the silence. Just as I took a sip, he said, “A shelter?”
“Yup.”
“Holly, honey, are you sure?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Mom and dad shared a look, a million things passing between the two of them. Dad reached for her hand, and she intertwined her fingers with his. I eyed their joined hands for a minute. Her dainty fingers so different from his equally delicate ones. Her’s being small and slim from years of being a house-wife. His being quick and steady, but small enough to fit under a child’s ribcage. Finally, Dad broke the silence and brought my attention back to him. “Ok.”
I glanced between the two of them. “Ok?”
Mom nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
