Chapter 10
Six months later.
It was a Saturday in mid-February.
The snow was falling outside our new apartment—small, soft flakes drifting down past the third-floor window, covering the bare branches of the oak tree in the courtyard below.
Inside, it was warm.
The oven was on, heating up frozen pizza. The radio was playing old pop songs Maya loved. Somewhere down the hall, a neighbor’s dog was barking.
Maya was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, surrounded by college brochures.
NYU. Parsons. RISD. SAIC.
All art schools. All photography programs. All thousands of miles away from the town where we had lost everything.
She had applied to every single one.
Her guidance counselor had said her portfolio was one of the best he had ever seen. Her grades—after she made up all the work she had missed during that terrible winter—were almost straight A’s. She had even joined the soccer team at her new school. Made varsity. Scored the winning goal in the last game of the season.
She was happy.
Really, truly happy.
The nightmares still came sometimes. Once or twice a month. She would wake up screaming, sweating, calling for me. I would go to her room and sit on her bed and hold her until she fell back asleep. We still went to therapy every week. She still had bad days.
But they were fewer now.
And the good days?
The good days were brighter than any we had ever had before.
The divorce was final in November.
Robert had not fought me on anything. Just like he promised. He signed the papers. He gave me full custody. He put the house on the market. We split the money fifty-fifty. It was enough for a down payment on this small apartment in the city and six months of living expenses while I looked for work.
I found a job in January.
Administrative assistant at a small photography gallery downtown. It paid less than Robert had ever made, but it was enough. And I loved it. I loved the art. I loved the people. I loved coming home every night feeling like I had done something that mattered.
Robert still called.
Once a week now. Not twice a day. Just once. Usually on Sunday afternoons. Maya talked to him sometimes. Ten minutes. Fifteen at the most. They talked about school. About soccer. About her applications. They never talked about Mark. They never talked about what happened. They never talked about us.
It was not much.
But it was something.
It was enough, for now.
The front door opened. Rachel walked in, carrying a paper bag from the wine shop and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder.
“Sorry I’m late!” she called, kicking off her boots by the door. “The subway was a nightmare. Did I miss anything?”
“Just the pre-pizza hunger panic,” Maya said, grinning. “Mom almost ate the frozen mozzarella sticks.”
“I did not!” I protested, laughing.
Rachel had become our family.
She had been with us through everything—the procedure, the divorce, the move, the first day at the new school. She had helped Maya fill out her college applications. She had helped me write my resume. She had come over for dinner at least once a week since we moved into the apartment.
She was the sister I never had. The aunt Maya had always deserved.
“Wine?” she asked, holding up the bottle.
“God, yes,” I said.
She poured two glasses—one for me, one for her—and a soda for Maya. We clinked our glasses together over the coffee table.
“To acceptances,” Rachel said, nodding at the brochures spread across the floor. “May they come early and come often.”
“To acceptances,” Maya repeated, grinning.
The oven timer beeped. I got up to pull the pizza out. The smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce filled the whole apartment.
We ate straight off the coffee table, sitting on the floor, just like we had at the shelter. We talked about everything and nothing. Work. School. The cute barista at the coffee shop down the street. The terrible movie we were going to watch after dinner.
Halfway through the second slice, Maya’s phone buzzed on the table.
She picked it up. She glanced at the screen.
And then she froze.
Her pizza hovered halfway to her mouth. Her eyes went wide. Her face went completely white.
“Maya?” I said, alarmed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She did not answer. She just stared at the phone. Her hands started shaking.
“Baby, you’re scaring me,” I said. I put my pizza down and reached for her. “What happened? Is it your dad? Is he okay?”
She shook her head. She swallowed hard.
“It’s not Dad,” she whispered.
She turned the phone around so we could see.
It was an email.
From NYU.
The subject line: OFFICIAL: Admission Decision – Maya Thorne.
“Oh my God,” Rachel breathed. “Open it.”
Maya’s thumb hovered over the screen. She looked at me. Her eyes were huge.
“I can’t,” she said. “What if it’s a no? What if I didn’t get in? I don’t think I can handle that right now.”
“Hey,” I said. I put my hand over hers. “Whatever it says, it’s okay. If it’s a no, we appeal. Or you go to one of the other amazing schools you applied to. Your life is not over if NYU says no. I promise.”
She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes.
And she tapped the screen.
For three long seconds, nothing happened. The email loaded.
Then Maya read it.
Her mouth fell open.
She dropped the phone. It clattered onto the coffee table, face up.
Rachel and I both leaned in to read.
Dear Maya,
On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the New York University Tisch School of the Arts, Class of 2030...
She got in.
She actually got in.
“OH MY GOD!” Rachel screamed, jumping up and spilling her wine. “YOU GOT IN! YOU ACTUALLY GOT IN!”
Maya was still staring at the phone, her mouth open, no sound coming out.
I looked at her. At my daughter. The girl who had been through hell and back. Who had been hurt and betrayed and broken by the people who were supposed to love her most. Who had lost her home, her family, her innocence.
And who had gotten back up.
Every single time.
She had fought. She had healed. She had kept going, even when every part of her wanted to stay down. She had turned the worst thing that ever happened to her into the fuel to build the best life she possibly could.
She was going to NYU.
She was going to be a photographer.
She was going to be amazing.
The tears started before I knew they were coming. I reached across the table and pulled her into my arms. She hugged me back, sobbing happy tears into my shoulder.
“I got in,” she kept saying. “I actually got in.”
“I knew you would,” I said into her hair. “I never doubted it for one second.”
Rachel was dancing around the living room, still screaming, wine sloshing out of her glass. She grabbed Maya’s phone and started taking a million videos. “We have to tell your dad! We have to tell Linda! We have to tell everyone!”
Maya pulled back from me. She wiped her eyes. She was smiling so wide her face must have hurt.
“Wait,” she said. “There’s more.”
She picked up the phone and scrolled down the email.
“Not only did I get in,” she said, her voice trembling, “they gave me a full ride. The Dean’s Scholarship. Four years. Everything covered. Tuition, housing, books. All of it.”
I think my heart actually stopped.
A full scholarship.
She had done it.
All on her own.
“Maya...” I whispered. I did not have words.
She looked at me. Really looked at me. Her eyes were shining.
“I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” she said. “You know that, right? When everything fell apart... you were the only thing that stayed. You believed me when nobody else did. You protected me. You gave up everything just to make sure I was okay. I would be dead if it wasn’t for you, Mom. Or worse.”
She took my hand.
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
I kissed her forehead.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “That’s what moms do. We show up. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. I would do it all again a thousand times if it meant getting to be your mom.”
Rachel stopped dancing. She set down her wine glass. She looked at both of us, her eyes wet.
“Okay,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. “If you two don’t stop being so cute, I’m going to cry all over your acceptance letter. And then NYU will take it back because it’s all snotty.”
We all laughed.
Maya picked up her phone. She opened her contacts. She found Robert’s name. She hesitated for just a second, then pressed call.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said. His voice came through the speaker, warm and a little tired. “Everything okay?”
“Dad,” Maya said. Her voice was bright, alive, full of hope. “I got in. NYU. Full scholarship.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
Then we heard it.
Robert was crying.
“Maya,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so, so proud. You have no idea.”
They talked for a few more minutes. Robert promised to take her shopping for dorm supplies in the summer. He promised to come to New York for parents’ weekend. He promised he would be there.
When she hung up, she looked at me.
“He’s trying,” she said simply.
“I know,” I said.
And he was.
None of us were the same people we had been a year before. We were all broken in different ways. We all carried scars that would never fully fade.
But broken things could still be beautiful.
Scars could still heal.
And life?
Life could go on.
Better than before.
Brighter than before.
I looked around the small living room. At the pizza boxes. At the college brochures scattered across the floor. At Rachel, already planning a celebration party. At Maya, her face glowing, already texting her friends the good news.
Outside, the snow kept falling. Soft. Quiet. Covering the old year. Making everything clean and white and new.
Inside, we were warm.
We were together.
We were safe.
May you like
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow was going to be amazing.
