Iwillget through this.
And I’ll prove everyone wrong.
So I forced myself to watchJeopardywith my aunt every night. I dragged myself to the local park, where I walked the trails for hours. I signed up for the GED so I could get my degree.
And as the weeks and months went on, I pushed myself even more. I got a job as a housekeeper at a nearby hotel. I appliedto the local community college. A year on, I transferred to SUNY Albany and moved into the dorms.
Was it the life I’d expected to be living? Not even close. By nineteen, I’d thought I would be out in DC, attending George Washington University with Nico by my side. We’d both be well on our way to our degrees and making plans to apply to the FBI after graduation, me as a field agent and Nico as a computer scientist. Maybe we’d even be engaged by then.
But it was more than I’d thought I’d have during those dark days after my arrest.
It was a life that seemed out of reach while I sat in my cell at the juvenile detention center in Brooklyn, wondering how everything had gone so terribly wrong.
Nearly twenty years later, I’m proud of what I accomplished. I may not have the life I dreamed of back when I was young and naive, but I have a good life. One that I’ve achieved all on my own.
Or, Idid, at least.
That was before I was dragged off the street and beaten. Before a man tried to kill me in the hospital. Before I ended up staying with the man who shattered my heart. Before the painful memories I’ve tried to repress came back with a vengeance.
Sighing loudly, I sag back against the pillows and cast my gaze around the room. It looks like it belongs in the pages of a home design magazine or one of those shows on HGTV, with a modern platform bed that might be bigger than my entire bedroom, sleek black nightstands and dressers, and abstract paintings done in splashes of white and black to match. If I were to look out the window, I’d catch a glimpse of Central Park in the distance, another reminder of how out of my league I am.
My apartment in Hoboken has a view of a parking lot, and in the distance, a twenty-four-hour laundromat. Neither of whichare even close to the rows of expensive condos and apartment buildings that I can see from Nico’s windows.
It’s just another reason why I feel so uncomfortable here. As if living with Nico isn’t hard enough, every time I look around his condo, I’m reminded of how much I don’t fit in. Nico is rich; not from his family’s money, but in his own right. He’s obviously successful. He has furniture that probably costs more than my rent for the year.
Oh, and he thinks I’m a thief. And a liar. So there’s that.
Just the word,thief, makes my chest go tight. My pulse jumps. Angry heat prickles at the back of my neck.
Thief.
Liar.
Criminal.
Those are words I’ll never forget.
Tears sting my eyes as the unwelcome memories creep back in; of that horrible day when everything went wrong.
I’d been at Nico’s apartment over on the Upper East Side, waiting for him to get back from baseball practice. It wasn’t unusual for me to go there straight from school when he had practice—as a scholarship student, I had to commute on the bus all the way from Brooklyn, while Nico’s place was only a quick ten-minute walk away. The housekeeper would let me in, since Nico’s parents were rarely home, and I’d spend a couple hours in Nico’s bedroom, studying.
It was early June, with just a few weeks left in the school year, and my mind was occupied with finals and the upcoming Senior Ball and the anticipation of graduation. So I never noticed that Nico’s dad had arrived until he stormed into the bedroom, raging at me.
“Thief!”he accused me, his face twisted and red with anger.“You come into our home and you steal from us? My wife’sjewelry? Her family heirlooms? We trusted you! And this is how you repay us? By stealing from us?”
I didn’t understand what he was talking about. I’d never stolen anything.
But in the face of his rage, I just sputtered a weak,“What? I… What? I didn’t.”
“You did!”he roared. Then he held out my backpack, which I’d left hanging by the front door. Shoving his hand into one of the side pockets, he pulled out a necklace and thrust it at me.“Why would I find this in your bag if you weren’t trying to steal it? If you hadn’t already stolen from us?”
As I watched the necklace swing from his hand, the large green stone sparkling in the afternoon sun, my heart beat so fast I was dizzy from it.“I didn’t,”I blurted.“I don’t know how that got there. I’ve never touched Nico’s mom’s jewelry. I would never. I don’t even know where she keeps it. I swear.”
Nico’s dad got right in my face.“Then why was it in your bag, Sofia? And why are six other pieces of her jewelry missing?”
“I don’t know,”I remember telling him.“I didn’t touch them. I didn’t.”
But he didn’t believe me.
