Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
“Don’t worry,” she says as we climb into her Chevy. “We’re just looking. No pop quizzes, no pressure.”
The drive is quiet, the sun spilling over the trees, the world waking up around us. I rest my head against the window, watching the fields roll by—yellow grass, fence posts leaning at odd angles, cows grazing slow and steady. Everything feels new and possible, like the day is unfolding just for me.
We pull into the college parking lot, and my heart stutters. The campus isn’t big—just a handful of buildings scattered beneath massive oak trees, their branches shading the cracked concrete walkways. Students cluster in groups, laughing, earbuds in, backpacks slung low. They move like they belong, like the world is theirs to claim.
I follow Tessie across the lot, feeling awkward and invisible at the same time. She points out the library, the student center, a little coffee hut that smells like heaven. I barely hear her. My eyes keep darting to the students—how sure they look, how unafraid.
“What if I’m too far behind?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Tessie stops walking and turns to face me, her hands warm on my shoulders. “Cambria, look at me.”
I do, and I see nothing but certainty in her eyes.
“You are not behind. You are exactly where you need to be. You’ve survived things that would have broken most people. And you came out stronger. I know about that. I see it in you.”
My throat tightens. I want to believe her—God, I want to.
“You can do anything you put your mind to,” she says. “You just have to believe it.”
Something in me—small but stubborn—does believe it, because she believes in me.
Inside the admin building, a kind woman at the front desk gives me pamphlets and a patient smile. She explains the adult learning program, the GED course that starts in three weeks, the financial aid available, the support systems, the counseling services. It’s overwhelming, but for the first time, the overwhelm isn’t fear—it’s possibility. My hands are full of paper when we leave. My heart is full of something fragile and dangerous: hope.
That night, Tessie’s house is a group of voices and laughter and food. I sit at the long, scarred table, surrounded by a family that has chosen me. Tessie, Shooter, Acadia, Axel, Yesnia, Drea—Drew’s twin, Alex, and even Te. Some nights, it feels like too much, like I’m intruding on a secret I’ll never understand. But tonight, there’s a place for me, right in the center.
Tessie brags about me, her elbow nudging my ribs. “She walked those halls like she owned the place,” she crows.
Little Foot smiles, a slow, proud grin. “Proud of you, Cam. Seriously.”
Acadia lifts her glass, her voice theatrical. “To Cambria! Future genius!”
Everyone cheers, raising their drinks. I blush so hard I want to disappear, but instead, I let it happen—I let the love in. It’s new and strange, but I want it. I want all of it.
After dinner, when the plates are cleared and the kitchen smells like soap and lemon, I slip outside. The air is cool, heavy with pine and woodsmoke from the firepit where Axel, Shooter and Alex are. The stars are pinprick bright, scattered across the black velvet sky.
I sit on the porch steps, knees pulled up, breathing in the night. For a moment, I let myself believe that the danger is gone for good. That this could be my life, day after day—quiet, safe, full of laughter and the ordinary magic of being loved.
The screen door squeaks. Little Foot joins me, lowering himself onto the step beside me. His body is solid and warm, his presence a comfort I never expected to crave.
“How you feeling?” he asks, his arm sliding around my waist.
I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder. “Like the ground isn’t falling out from under me anymore.”
He laughs softly, kissing the top of my head. “Good. That’s how it should be.”
I turn to look at him, searching his face for any trace of doubt. “Thank you. For all of this. For believing in me.”
His eyes go soft. “You don’t have to thank me, Cam. You’re not a guest here. You’re home.”
The words settle deep, anchoring me. For the first time in my life, I believe them. I am home.
We sit together, wrapped in the hush of the night, the future stretching out before us—uncertain, maybe, but ours.
Once home, Drew settles in to bed easily after his long day of work. I can’t sleep. I pad through the darkened hallway, past creaky floorboards and half-shut doors. I stand at the window, watching moonlight spill across the fields, feeling the old ache of loneliness and the new ache of hope collide in my chest.
My life hasn’t been easy. I’ve been left, lied to, used, and forgotten. I know what it means to survive. But for the first time, I’m starting to believe I can do more than survive—I can thrive. I can choose.