Seven Years Of Votes And Always One Short Chapter 07

Worn down by their pleading, the advisor gave a helpless nod and led them to the rented room

where Jo had occupied for seven years.

Jo’s roommate, Hailey Warren, heard that they were Jo’s family and openly refused to believe it.

She looked them up and down, her eyes pausing on their tailored clothes.

“You’re really Jo’s family? Then where were you all these years? Not one visit, not once?”

Mom and Dad’s lips moved, yet no words came out.

Hailey pointed at the wall, crowded edge to edge with certificates, and let out a cutting little laugh

“Jojo and I come from the same hometown. I grew up hearing about a remarkable girl from our town.”

“After her adoptive parents died in a car crash, she grew up on the village’s handouts. She hauled brick on construction sites to pay her tuition, taught herself under the streetlights at night, and scholarship by scholarship, she fought her way out. She’s our town’s pride.”

Hailey picked up a battered math book from the desk, its cover bound in layer after layer of tape.

“When she showed up to register seven years ago, this one book and a single acceptance letter were everything she carried.”

Mom took the book into her hands. Her fingers traced the dense notes scrawled across the pages, and she broke down completely.

Miles stared at the awards covering the wall and murmured.

“Why didn’t she come home and tell us she was struggling this badly.”

Hailey let out a cold laugh. “Did she have a home here?”

Miles dropped his head, a tight ache forming in his throat,

He recalled every harsh word and sneer he’d directed at jo.

For the first time, his head hung low, his voice heavy in his chest.

“We were wrong. We never gave her a real home.”

Mom wept so hard she could barely stand, and Dad supported her silently.

Pearl lingered at the doorway and couldn’t help herself. “But Jo failed the vote on her own…”

Miles snapped his head toward her, his gaze unfamiliar and cold.

Pearl staggered back a step, tears trembling at the edge of spilling. “Brother…”

His brow knotted hard.

“Don’t call me brother.”

The sister who should have called him brother had already walked away from him forever.

The Sherman household fell apart at the seams.

Grandma fixed her glare on Pearl and slammed her cane into the floor.

“If you hadn’t carried that dog out to cast a vote, would we be here?”

Mom cried herself off her feet and blamed Grandma for rules set in iron.

Miles locked himself in his room and smashed everything inside.

Pearl sat alone with the dog in her arms, panic seeping deeper into her eyes by the minute.

More than a dozen hours later, I stepped off the plane.

I sent word to my advisor and friends to tell them I’d arrived safely.

As for the fifty-seven blocked calls sitting in my blacklist, I ignored them all.

I had barely walked a few steps when a crowd rushed toward me, holding welcome signs.

“Professor Jo Linley! Welcome to France!”

“Professor, this way please!”

They were my new colleagues, every face bright with genuine warmth.

“Here is the key to your office.”

“This is the address of your apartment. The university arranged it especially for you.”

“Reach out anytime if you need anything.”

They walked me all the way to my apartment door before taking their leave.

I thanked them, and an unfamiliar warmth rose inside my chest.

I stood frozen for a long moment after opening the apartment door.

It was a three-bedroom space, decorated in a gentle, cozy style.

The bed was made with fresh blue sheets, the pillows soft and full.

Bookshelves were lined with professional texts.

The kitchen was fully stocked with cookware and groceries.

A green pothos stretched its leaves across the windowsill.

I pushed the window open, and the night view of Paris flooded in.

It looked almost exactly like the home I’d once dreamed of.

Tears fell without warning.

Not from sorrow.

From joy.

This was the first home I had ever had.

No voting panels, no ballots, no waiting for anyone’s permission to belong here.