From Ruin: The Photographer's Comeback

neak out to a party in a part of town I didn't know. My father h

asn

imly lit street. That's when they appeared. Three of them, shadowy figures emerging from an a

e of them, hard. He swore, loosening his grip. I twisted free. I r

s, graffiti-scarred walls, the stench of stale beer and desperation. The streetl

ankle twisting on a loose cobblest

cing, came from behind me. "Wel

ure. Drunke

bracing for impa

esh. I opened my eyes. A young man, barely older than me, stood between me and my

g into his eyes, but his gaze was sharp, focused. He took a hit to the jaw

At that moment,

n. He was bruised, bleeding, his lip split. But h

setup. He always knew. But I didn't. I was a naive girl,

r learned), I turned to him. His name was Conrad Keller. He was a local kid, no family to

eyes. He needed me. And I, in my youth

firm despite my racing heart. "He save

ial empire from nothing, looked at Conrad with an assess

mbition, maybe. Or perhaps he simply loved me t

. He was eighteen, I was sixteen. He lived in the gue

y. My father used to say, "That boy, he's

books my father bought him. He excelled. He got a full schol

g to my room, his face alight with a joy I'd never

ot in!" He was spinni

d, laughing with him. My own ac

father. You gave me everything. A home. A chance." He paused, his gaze

With all my hear