Chapter 10: My Life, My Choice

Three weeks passed before I agreed to speak to Rhys. I chose a video call, not because I had forgiven him, but because I wanted to hear whether he finally understood what he had done.

His face appeared on the screen. He looked different from the boy who used to smirk whenever he saw me upset. His expression was tired, and for once, he didn't begin with an accusation.

“Thank you for answering,” he said quietly.

I waited. I had learned that silence often revealed more than arguments.

Rhys looked down before continuing. “I lied about the watch. I knew you hadn't stolen it, but I let everyone believe you had. I changed your college applications because I wanted you gone. I told myself you had ruined my family, but that was just an excuse to hurt you.”

My chest tightened. I had imagined hearing those words for years, but now that they had arrived, they didn't undo anything.

“Why?” I asked.

He swallowed. “Because I was angry about my dad marrying your mom. I thought everything in my life was changing, and I blamed you because you were easier to blame than the adults who made those choices. Then everyone kept letting me get away with it. I turned it into a habit.”

It wasn't a justification. At least, this time, he didn't pretend it was.

“I lost years trying to prove I wasn't the person you told everyone I was,” I said. “You made me feel like I didn't belong in my own home. And Mom let it happen.”

Rhys's eyes filled, but I didn't rush to comfort him. For once, his feelings were not my responsibility.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Not just because you left. I'm sorry for the watch, the school applications, the things I said, and every time I made you feel small. I know saying it doesn't fix anything. I won't ask you to forgive me today.”

I believed that he felt regret. Whether he could change was something only time would prove.

“You need to tell the truth to everyone you lied to,” I said. “And you need to stop expecting me to make this easier for you.”

He nodded. “I will.”

After the call, I spoke to Mom. She cried as she admitted that she had spent years choosing peace in the house over protecting her daughter. She said she had been afraid of losing her place in the Wells family, and that fear had made her ignore what I needed from her.

“I needed you to believe me,” I told her. “I needed you to be my mother, even when it was difficult.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I can't ask you to come home or pretend things are fine. I'll have to show you that I can do better.”

For the first time, she didn't ask me to put up with anything.

Over the next few weeks, Rhys followed through on part of what he had promised. He contacted people from our old school and admitted that the story about the watch was a lie. He also told Mr. Wells the truth about sabotaging my applications. Some people apologized to me; others stayed silent. I stopped measuring my worth by their reactions.

Mom began writing without demanding an immediate reply. Her messages were small and ordinary at first—asking how my classes were going, wishing me luck before an exam, telling me she hoped I was eating properly. I answered when I felt ready, and she accepted the distance I needed.

My scholarship helped me stay in college, and the education fund my father had left for me gave me additional support once the paperwork was completed. I kept working at the café, but I no longer had to take every shift just to make ends meet.

One afternoon, I took my father's photograph to the campus garden and sat beneath a tree while students crossed the lawn. I thought about the necklace Blair had taken and the years I had spent trying to keep one small piece of my old life safe.

I still wished I had it. But I understood that the memory of my father was not held inside a chain. It lived in the choices I made, in the courage to leave, and in the future I was building.

Rhys sent one final message before the semester ended. He said he would keep working on himself whether or not I ever forgave him. I didn't promise him a fresh start. I simply replied that I hoped he meant what he said and that actions mattered more than words.

Maybe, one day, we would be able to speak without the weight of the past between us. Maybe we wouldn't. I no longer needed to decide that now.

At the end of the semester, I stood outside the campus library with my results in hand. I had passed every class. The girl who had left the Wells house with one suitcase and almost no money had made it through her first term.

I thought of the night I had slipped out of that house, afraid of what would happen next. I wished I could tell that version of myself that she would find kind people, new opportunities, and strength she hadn't yet learned to recognize.

My life wasn't perfect, and the people who had hurt me couldn't erase the past with a few apologies. But I had a future, and it was mine to shape.

I walked across campus toward the café, the afternoon sun warming my face. For years, I had waited for Rhys to regret losing me. Now, his regret was no longer the ending of my story.

It was simply the moment I finally understood that I didn't need his approval to be free.