He Mocked My Scar, So I Left Him to His Regret Chapter 23

Before leaving the academy, I went back to Aspen Lane.

A new family lived at number 306 now. In the yard were children’s painted plaster figures, their colors bright in the window.

I didn’t knock.

That house had once protected me, had held the loneliest years of my life.

Now, it had served its purpose.

Mom was waiting for me at the corner.

She didn’t rush me. When I reached her, she simply took my hand,

a gesture as natural as breathing.

“Seen everything you wanted to see?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go home.”

After we returned to Melbourne, Cedar Ridge Academy established the lunch fund and the independent appeals channel, just as they’d promised.

I donated my recovered back wages to the fund’s first year.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to ensure a few students would

never have to bow their heads to anyone over a meal.

Lockwood eventually sold off part of his company.

Without the title of financial officer and its privileges, he could still live comfortably, but he could no longer use his position to decide

who deserved to eat and whose complaints were worth hearing.

Bianca sold off much of her jewelry and, after paying her fines, got

a job.

She never offered me a sincere apology.

I stopped waiting for one.

As for Holden, I never saw him again.

Every now and then, someone would mention his name, and all I

would think of was that belated blessing by the sea.

Then I would go back to my life.

Three years later, Mom formally handed the company’s southern

route business over to me.

On the day I signed the papers, she gave me a cedar tree that had already grown tall.

“This is the one I wrote about in that letter thirteen years ago.”

“It’s been waiting for you.”

Together, we moved it into the yard.

The sea breeze lifted my hair, revealing the faint, silvery mark on

the left side of my face.

I didn’t reach up to hide it.

That scar proved I had once saved someone. It also proved I had survived the deepest hurt of my life.

But it no longer stood for Holden, or Bianca, or Lockwood.

It belonged only to me.

From far away came the sound of the tide, and from inside the

house, Mom called for me to come in for soup.

I answered her and walked toward the lit doorway, into the glow of

the setting sun.

In the future, I would go to many more places and make many

more decisions.

I would not need anyone’s permission.

Because my name, my home, and my life were always meant to

be written by my own hand.