Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
TWO YEARS LATER
The air in the park buzzes with energy the way it does after a storm, as if we’re all just waiting for lightning to strike. And, in a way, I guess we are.
The evening sky is a strange grayish purple, but my first thought isn’t of Havenport like it would’ve once been. It’s of the purple hydrangeas in the bouquet Professor Bell sent me to celebrate.
Healing is in the small things, the subtle shifts.
Groups of people buzz past, hands loaded with snacks and oversized drinks.
Two men dressed in suits zip by me, eyes glued to their phones.
A handful of women split around me, brushing my shoulders in a hurry to get somewhere, their floral maxi dresses billowing around their legs as they laugh among themselves.
There are men in T-shirts and men in tuxes, women in crop tops and women in formal wear.
The vibe here is chaotic—like the festival is still trying to figure out exactly what it is.
I pause as an older woman positions a younger version of herself—her daughter, I’m assuming—in front of one of the screens, snapping photo after photo.
My nerves have wound themselves so tightly in my chest, it feels like a bundle of cords I can’t untangle.
The woman meets my eyes with an apologetic smile and a hand raised. She mouths, sorry, but I just shake my head. No apologies needed.
I take in the sights and smells of the vendors—fair food, mostly, but there’s also a few sushi and charcuterie options.
“Lila!” I spin around as her voice reaches me, searching the crowd for her face. When I finally land on it, it’s like coming home.
Something warm blooms in my chest, spilling out under my skin.
“Stella, there you are.”
She picks up speed, moving forward with both arms outstretched. We meet in the middle, and she drags me into an embrace. When she pulls back, her gaze scans my face.
She hasn’t dropped her hands from where they hold my arms, and it’s as if I’m the only thing anchoring her to this place, this moment. As if I’m the only thing keeping her from floating away, either from pure elation or fear.
Still undecided.
There’s no coming back from this, and I can see it on both our faces. We’ve gone over all the legal aspects, protected ourselves every way we’ve been advised, but in twenty minutes, none of it matters.
We both know the court of public opinion can be so much worse than any legal proceeding.
“Did you eat anything?” I ask, nodding toward a taco truck to our left.
“Can’t,” she says without even looking. It’s enough of an answer.
“Me either.” I bounce nervously on my feet, glancing toward the screen up ahead. I want to ask her if she’s sure about this, but I can’t. I know she is. I know we’re in this together, but trust still isn’t the most comfortable resting place for me.
She squeezes my arms once before releasing them. “It’s going to be great,” she says, and it sounds as if it’s as much for her benefit as mine. She brushes a bit of her silver bob back from her eyes. “It has to be.”
Something rattles deep in my core, a familiar sort of worry I haven’t felt since that night at Ralston’s award ceremony. It’s as if I’m standing on a precipice, just waiting for someone else to push me forward.
“Well, if it isn’t the debut director herself.” The familiar voice hits me square in the chest.
I squint, searching, and my eyes land on her with relief like mercy. A balm for my weary soul.
Hayden.
She moves through the crowd with ease, never in any hurry, and when she finally clears the last of the people between us, I spot Jade there too, their hands locked together between them. Hayden releases Jade’s hand for only moments to slap me on the back and shake Stella’s hand.
My eyes well with tears with no warning. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Always surprised.” Hayden meets my gaze, then looks around. “I heard you’re taking ’em all down. Figured we’d better stick around to help with the wreckage.”
“Because there will be,” Jade points out, eyeing me, though it’s playful. Almost a dare. “But Lila’s never been afraid of a little wreckage.”
“I was young,” I say, my voice light and buzzing with nerves. “This Lila feels very afraid.”
Stella bumps my arm. “Feel it and persist anyway.”
“She will,” Jade says, leveling me with a stare that straightens my spine. Like she expects more from me than I’m sure I can give.
For the past year, Stella and I have been working on this documentary. With Ralston gone, we turned our attention to the other stories. The professors, bosses, and mentors who’ve taken advantage of their positions of trust and power. This is no longer about me, no longer about my revenge.
It’s a risk we’ve both accepted, but being here brings me right back to that campus. Alone. Terrified. Lost.
It’s like they knew I’d need the reminder of who I was. Who I still want to be.
Ahead, the screen flashes to life and all heads in the vicinity turn. A countdown flashes.
“Is that you?” Hayden asks, eyes bouncing between us.
“It is,” Stella confirms, inhaling deeply. She locks hands with me.
Jade’s expression is unflinching, pointed. She’s changed. Or maybe returned. She reminds me of the girl I met the day she warned me about Ralston. Her fire is back. Her eyes lock on mine, and she gives a slow, steady nod. “You’ve got this.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. “Sorry. I should turn this off before our panel.” Whatever vitriol will be heading our way, it can wait until tomorrow.
Everything falls silent as I spot the email on my screen.
Subject: Can you help?
I don’t know if you’ll ever see this. I’m a student at Havenport University.
I read your book, and I think something similar is happening to me.
Part of me thinks I’m going crazy, but if you see this…
could we talk? I realize I’m a stranger, but you’re the only one who might understand.
I’m pretty sure my professor stole my work.
She studied under Althea Ralston. Maybe you know her?
Professor Danica Comer. Anyway, please just…
if there’s something I should do, can you help?
My breathing goes shallow at the mention of Dani’s name. Ralston’s true heir. I hesitate, fingers hovering over my screen as I try to make sense of what I’m reading.
“Everything okay?” Stella watches me closely, worry painting itself across her face.
“Yeah, it’s just…”
I chew my bottom lip, distracted already as the spark I’d nearly forgotten returns with a vengeance. This reminder is all it took.
People have begun to take their seats, but Jade, Hayden, and Stella stay.
They wait.
We’re in this together. Still.
I type and retype my response a hundred times as the clock counts down on the screen ahead.
In the end, with six minutes to spare, it’s this.
I’m so happy you reached out. First, I want to tell you you’re not crazy.
And you’re not alone. I’m sorry this is happening to you.
I can help you, but first I have to warn you.
You have to know that fighting this will hurt you, too.
The system chews us up and spits us out in different ways—sometimes for abusing power, sometimes for daring to challenge it.
You have to decide if it’s worth it. Someone smarter than I am once warned me that in war, everyone bleeds.
So, the question becomes, how far are you willing to go?
I pause before sending to add, walking as I go:
I am on your side, and I can introduce you to others who will believe you, but the hard truth is that there will be far more people who won’t believe you than those who will.
To fight this, you need to care less about being believed than being heard.
Because even in the quiet, there is power.
And even in being erased, there is resistance.
The cost of truths like ours is this. You will become both hero and ghost. I can’t promise you it’ll be worth it, but I can promise you I’ll be here if you decide it is.
I hit send and smile just as the lights around the stage go down and the crowd breaks into a slow rumble of applause.
It’s not a huge turnout, but it’s something. It’s the first film festival of many, the first chance to share our truths and the truths of so many others.
So many…
GHOSTS
The word appears on the screen—white font that disappears like fog on the black background—finishing my thought.
Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s what I am now.
In fighting Ralston, I became a ghost. My career is as invisible as it ever was.
Everything I thought I once dreamed of has faded away.
In terms of publishing my dream novel, I’m still right where I started, right where I seem destined to remain.
On the screen, a woman walks down the sidewalk at sunset.
We can’t see her face yet, but we hear her voice.
Her truth. Stella is proud of the lighting here, she’d say.
The timing we managed to nail. I’m proud of the pain behind it.
The way we all felt the heat—everyone involved—and walked through the flames anyway.
I may not be where I want to be, but this? I look to either side of me as we take our seats. This is good too.
I have friends because of the fight. I have something to fight for—people to fight for. I have the peace that comes with knowing I got everything I wanted. Ralston is gone. I’ve published a book. And none of it fixed my life.
Despite all of my big dreams, I’ve felt happiest writing the articles that help other people and painstakingly putting this documentary together with Stella, over so many late nights we’ve lost count and so many slices of pizza we’re practically walking carbs.
I feel most like myself—whatever this new version of myself is—responding to emails that make people feel seen.
Creating art that changes people, saves people.
Feeling the fire that comes with demanding truth.
Maintaining the website that helps slay dragons that are not my own.
Stella smiles at me, her face alight with the screen’s glare, and I smile back. There’s no coming back from this, and I wouldn’t want to.
We did it, she mouths, eyes already lining with tears.
Hayden was right, I guess, though our missions look a little different. At their heart, they’re the same.
In the end, when you face a corrupt system, you either become part of it and benefit from what it is, or you fight against it.
Either way, you’ll lose.
You just have to decide what quiet legacy you want to leave for the few who will remember you. No matter how they try to erase me, the image on the screen and the email I just answered are reminders that, for some, I’ve already left my mark.
And I’ll keep doing what I can, however I can.
These days, I’m okay with being a ghost. Some legacies aren’t meant to be loud. They’re only meant to last.