They Filled Her Suitcase And Emptied My Place In The Family Chapter 10

They Filled Her Suitcase And Emptied My Place In The Family Chapter 10

Four years later, Boston winter was dry and cold. The Charles River was frozen solid.

I walked out of the lab building in a long down jacket, holding my direct PhD admission letter.

My advisor patted my shoulder. “Vera, your quantum entanglement paper has been published in a

core journal. You’ll be presenting at the international symposium next week.”

“Thank you, Professor.” I smiled.

At the school gate, my grandmother sat in her wheelchair, waiting. Her health had improved under

Boston’s specialists-she looked radiant. Jenny Song was pushing her, waving.

“Vera! Come quick-Grandma made pies!”

I took the wheelchair handles. “Grandma, it’s cold today. Why didn’t you wait inside?”

“I wanted to see you sooner.” She beamed.

At a crosswalk, the light turned red. A black sedan with Illinois plates pulled up beside us. The

window was half down, and I glanced over.

The driver was Ethan. He looked haggard, stubble on his chin, eyes hollow.

Lily wasn’t in the passenger seat.

I’d heard she was expelled from Northwestern for failing too many courses. Her parents had spent everything trying to get her into another school. Marcus was fired for embezzlement.

The beautiful home had long since fallen apart.

Ethan must have felt my gaze-he turned his head. Through the window, our eyes met. He froze,

his face a storm of emotions: shock, regret, deep, bottomless pain.

He reached for the door handle.

The light turned green. Cars behind us honked. I looked away, steady, and pushed my grandmother

across the crosswalk.

“Vera, wasn’t that Ethan?” Grandma glanced back.

“No,” I said, zipping my coat to my chin. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

Behind us, an engine revved, mixed with a traffic officer’s whistle. I didn’t look back.

The streetlights ahead lit up one by one, guiding us home.

Boston snow fell on my shoulders. Light. Clean.