Chapter 6

The next morning, I turned down every invitation and flew home first class.

I didn't choose the cheapest route with three connections anymore. I didn't grip the armrests during takeoff. A plane was just a tool — one that had failed to bring me my mother but had carried me to the places where I'd built something better.

When we landed, my phone was already overwhelmed with notifications. It took a moment to load.

Apparently, someone had filmed my speech and posted it online. It had gone viral overnight. Journalists had already dug out the details — the connection between me and Vivian, the slap, the arrivals hall photograph from five years ago that had been floating around, unnoticed, until now.

People were making comparisons. Infographics. Timelines.

The internet loves a comeback story. Especially one with a villain.

I got back to the office to find a voicemail from a Cambridge dean, telling me they were proud of me, that I'd always been one of their finest, and inviting me to speak at the upcoming alumni gala.

I said I'd think about it.

Stanford wasn't the only institution that mattered. And I was already Cambridge's youngest distinguished alumna.

I put the phone down and went back to work.

The noise online wouldn't make me richer. It wouldn't undo a single one of those years.

A week later, Vivian sent me over a hundred messages in under an hour.

Stella, I know I was wrong.

I'm coming home. Can you forgive me?

I've missed you. I've missed Eleanor terribly.

I have to admit — you're more impressive than Sofia. I really mean that. I'm so proud of you.

I read them all the way through.

And then I put the phone face down.

She was still doing it. Putting Sofia down to lift me up. As if that was the currency she was offering.

Maybe ten years ago — maybe even five — hearing those words would have meant everything to me.

But I didn't need them anymore.