The crisp Stanford acceptance letter felt like a cruel joke in my hands, a ghost from a life that ended in betrayal. I stared through it, past the promises, seeing Chloe and Brooke' s smiles, and the sterile white of the hospital room where my grandmother lay still. I remembered the twisted metal, the rain on my face, and Brooke running-not to me, bleeding on the pavement, but to Zoe, who had a mere scratch. My spirit lingered just long enough to hear their laughter, their celebration of sterilizing me, willing all my assets to Zoe. My life, my love, my trust – all a long, cruel punchline. Reborn into this sunlit room, with the future in my hand, I felt only a cold, clear purpose. Paper tore, then tore again, until the Stanford dream was confetti falling into the trash. Silicon Valley could wait. My phone buzzed with their fake concern: Chloe' s "Love you! 😘" and Brooke' s "So proud of you, Alex." I deleted them without a reply. Their words were poison, and I was finally immune. My grandmother, Susan, found me later, confused about my rejection of Stanford, Google, and Apple. I told her I wanted to stay, to protect her. The next day, whispers of "crazy" and "waste" followed me. Then they walked in: Chloe, Brooke, and the architect of my destruction, Zoe. She looked so plain, but her voice was pure venom, painting herself as the victim, accusing me of arrogance, of having everything handed to me. My fists clenched. Chloe and Brooke, who knew the truth, chose the lie. They weren't my friends. They were my enemies. I walked out. The game was on. This time, I knew the rules. And I was not going to lose.
The crisp Stanford acceptance letter felt like a cruel joke in my hands, a ghost from a life that ended in betrayal.
I stared through it, past the promises, seeing Chloe and Brooke' s smiles, and the sterile white of the hospital room where my grandmother lay still.
I remembered the twisted metal, the rain on my face, and Brooke running-not to me, bleeding on the pavement, but to Zoe, who had a mere scratch.
My spirit lingered just long enough to hear their laughter, their celebration of sterilizing me, willing all my assets to Zoe. My life, my love, my trust – all a long, cruel punchline.
Reborn into this sunlit room, with the future in my hand, I felt only a cold, clear purpose.
Paper tore, then tore again, until the Stanford dream was confetti falling into the trash. Silicon Valley could wait.
My phone buzzed with their fake concern: Chloe' s "Love you! 😘" and Brooke' s "So proud of you, Alex." I deleted them without a reply. Their words were poison, and I was finally immune.
My grandmother, Susan, found me later, confused about my rejection of Stanford, Google, and Apple. I told her I wanted to stay, to protect her.
The next day, whispers of "crazy" and "waste" followed me. Then they walked in: Chloe, Brooke, and the architect of my destruction, Zoe.
She looked so plain, but her voice was pure venom, painting herself as the victim, accusing me of arrogance, of having everything handed to me.
My fists clenched. Chloe and Brooke, who knew the truth, chose the lie. They weren't my friends. They were my enemies.
I walked out. The game was on. This time, I knew the rules. And I was not going to lose.
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