Feeling hollow, I wiped coffee from my scrubs and stepped outside, the evening air sharp against my tear-streaked face. Homeless, jobless, broke—my sacrifices seemed worthless.
Mia’s laughter stopped abruptly when she saw the sleek Bugatti Mistral parked on the street—a car I’d borrowed from a trusting friend. Her awe replaced her mockery.
I tossed the trash bag into the trunk and met her gaze. “Does it matter?” I asked, turning toward the car. For the first time, I chose myself.
As the engine roared to life, I drove away from a family that hadn’t appreciated me, unsure of the road ahead but fueled by determination. The city lights flared around me, and for the first time in years, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long while: hope.