Ashford looked exactly like Sadie’s photos—perfect, polished, effortless.
Then she found me in the library. “How are you here?” “I transferred.”
“They didn’t tell me.” “They don’t know.” “How are you paying?” “Scholarship.”
That was enough. My phone exploded with calls. Dad finally reached me.
“You’re at Ashford?” “Yes.” “You didn’t tell us.” “I didn’t think it mattered.”
Pause. “Of course it matters.” “Does it?” I asked. “Because I remember what you said.”
Silence. “How are you paying?” “Sterling Scholars.” Another pause. “That’s competitive.”
“Yes.” Then came the truth. “We’ll be at graduation for Sadie anyway. We can talk then.”
For Sadie. Not me. Graduation day arrived bright and loud. I walked in through the faculty entrance, wearing honors cords and a medal that felt heavier than anything I’d ever earned.
And there they were—front row, flowers in hand, camera ready. Waiting for her.
The president stepped up. My father raised the camera. My mother leaned forward.
And the president said, “Please welcome this year’s valedictorian…” (I know you’re all very curious about the next part, so if you want to read more, please leave a “YES” comment below!)
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