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Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. I didn't rest once.

After that night, I buried myself in work. I finished my degree a year early. Top of my cohort, dual honors — finance and law. By my third year, I'd landed an internship at one of the most prestigious investment banks in London. When I graduated, I walked straight into a full-time offer. By my second year working, I'd jumped to a top hedge fund and been promoted to investment manager.

A journalism student from Cambridge once interviewed me for a profile. She asked why I pushed myself so hard.

I thought about it for a moment. Then I opened my bag and took out a small reading pen.

I'd fished it out of the dustbin after I threw it away. I don't know why I kept it.

"At first," I said, "all I wanted was to have something with my name on it. Something that was bought for me. Not handed down."

"I just wanted to prove I was worth a brand-new one."

She didn't quite understand. But she wrote down every word, faithfully, and published it.

In my third year, my firm sent me to represent them at an international investment summit.

"Stella," my director said, "you'll be presenting to some of the biggest names in the industry. You're the youngest speaker on the programme. Make it count."

I looked at the location on the brief.

San Francisco.

My whole body went still.

I'd been waiting for this for five years. Maybe longer.

I thought about the parents' evening in Year Five. Every chair in the classroom had someone in it — every chair except mine. My classmates pointed and whispered all afternoon. I cried for the rest of the day. That night, I begged Gran to ring Mum on the international line.

The call rang for a long time before someone picked up.

Then the line went dead before I could say a word.