CHAPTER NINE
Three months later, I moved to Boston.
My leg still hurt.
Some days were difficult.
Some nights I woke up remembering the crash.
But I was free.
I found a small apartment near campus.
I started classes.
I worked part-time at a café.
And slowly, I began building a life that belonged to me.
Olivia visited once.
We sat across from each other in my tiny kitchen.
“I miss you,” she said.
“I miss who you used to be.”
She looked down.
“I know.”
“I don’t hate you.”
She looked up.
“But I don’t trust you yet.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
Before she left, she placed an envelope on the table.
“What is that?”
“Something Dad kept.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Mom.
On the back, there was a handwritten note.
For Grace. When she’s old enough to understand.
My hands trembled.
I read the note.
Mom had written about the savings account.
She explained why she had created it.
She wanted me to have enough money to leave if I ever needed to.
Then came the final line.
Never let anyone convince you that being needed is the same as being loved.
I couldn’t stop the tears.
For years, I’d thought Mom’s death had left me with nothing.
But she’d left me the one thing my father couldn’t take.
A way out.
