Forty-eight hours of failing.
This morning, though? This morning the universe decided to stop being subtle.
The notice was taped to my locker.
Facility access expires in twelve days.
Twelve.
I stood there staring at the bold black letters, like maybe if I blinked enough they’d blur into something less humiliating. Something less final.
My throat felt tight again. An ache I was becoming too accustomed to. Not pain, not quite panic. Justpressure. Like my ribs didn’t know how to hold what was happening.
Twelve days until I was done.
Twelve days until I couldn’t swim here.
Twelve days until the dream I’d been working toward for a decade evaporated.
I folded the paper, shoved it into my bag, and tried to breathe normally. No one else in the locker room looked at me. That was the blessing of being an older nonstudent athlete on campus. They didn’t know me well enough to ask. They didn’t owe me sympathy.
But it still felt like someone had turned a spotlight on the exact part of my life I was barely holding together.
I showered. I changed. And I barely remembered any of it, just went through the motions.
By the time I stepped outside, everything inside me felt wired—tight, buzzing, unmanageable.
My pride and my dream were warring inside of me.
The only war I’d ever really known.
My pride said,You can’t. You won’t. You don’t take handouts. You don’t tie your life to someone else’s because you’re too broke to stand on your own.
My dream said,You’ve worked too hard. Too long. You’re too close to let it die now.
And underneath both of those? The truth I tried not to say out loud:
If I walked away, it wasn’t just the Worlds I’d lose.
I’d lose the only version of myself I’d ever been proud of.
The thought kept circling, relentless, gnawing atevery excuse I tried to make. Pride fought panic, reason fought desperation, and none of it gave me a real answer. And maybe the reason why was that no matter how many times I told myself to let it go, I couldn’t. Not really. Not when the alternative was waking up tomorrow as someone I didn’t recognize.
I shook my head. I could still remember what it felt like to believe that version of me had a future. Back when everything seemed possible. Before sponsors and deadlines and fear made the world smaller.
By the time I reached my apartment, the decision felt both inevitable and impossible. Like I was being pulled toward a cliff edge, and I didn’t want to jump, but I couldn’t walk away either.
The thought of Roxie made my pulse jackhammer even harder.
Her face when she’d saidI might be able to help you.
Her voice when she’d explained the trust clause.
Her eyes—sharp, bright, too perceptive—when she’d realized I wasn’t okay.
She was the last person in the world I should tie myself to.
Except she was also the only person who actually had a way of helping me.
