I Exposed My Stepsister’s Stolen Elite University Life Chapter 09

I Exposed My Stepsister’s Stolen Elite University Life Chapter 09

My case caused a nationwide uproar and sparked an unprecedented debate about fairness in university admissions.

Under mounting public pressure, Westbridge University reviewed my case and reinstated the offer of admission that had been stolen from me.

When the postal worker handed me the offer pack that had arrived ten years late, my hands shook uncontrollably.

The envelope had been redesigned, but Westbridge University’s name and familiar crest looked exactly as they had in my dreams ten years earlier.

I returned alone to the cramped studio flat in that run-down complex, placed the offer letter on the table, and stared at it for the entire afternoon.

Before I realised it, tears were falling onto the crisp new page.

Only I knew how much pain and exhaustion I had endured over the past ten years.

I had thought life had already worn away every sharp edge in me and left me numb to everything.

But at that moment, I realised the fire inside me had never gone out.

On the first day of the semester, I walked through the university gates with a single suitcase trailing behind me.

The campus was filled with young, energetic faces. Students laughed, joked, and talked about everything they hoped to achieve.

As I watched them, it felt as though I were looking at my
eighteen-year-old self.

It was as if an entire lifetime had passed.

My student adviser was a young staff member who helped me
complete my enrolment and showed me to my accommodation.

“Nora, everyone here knows what happened to you. The university will
do everything it can to support you. Come to me anytime you need
help.”

“Thank you.”

I had been assigned to a four-person student flat. My three flatmates
were all exactly ten years younger than me.

They looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

“Welcome, Ms. Whitaker,” one of them said awkwardly.

I smiled. “Just call me Nora.”

I unpacked my suitcase and made my bed, but none of it felt real.

That night, I lay awake listening to cicadas outside the window and
distant singing from the university sports field.

My phone vibrated with a text from an unfamiliar number.

[I’m sorry.]

I stared at the message but did not reply.

I knew who had sent it.

But those words had come ten years too late.

They could not return the decade of my youth that I had lost or erase the scars left behind.

Some wrongs could never be forgiven.