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“I’m moving to New York,” she says. “After I pass the bar. I’ve secured a job in Manhattan.”

The reaction is instant.

Her mother’s expression freezes, the smile slipping from her face like something from a spilt cup, a messy splash of hurt. Her father’s brows knit together.

“Oh,” her mum says after a pause. “I see.” She sets her fork down carefully on the edge of her plate. “Manhattan, sweetheart? That’s amazing, only, that’s… that’s quite far, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Sophie says quietly.

“So you’re not planning on coming back home?”

Sophie stiffens. “I—no. No, I’m not.”

Her father shakes his head slowly. “We always thought you’d come back. We just assumed you’d want to work in London—closer to your family. Closer to home.”

“I’ll visit,” she says, voice wobbling.

Her mother’s smile is strained. “Of course. Of course, sweetheart. But…” She exchanges a look with her husband, and her eyes are wide and glittering like she’s trying not to cry. “Sophie, I—is this because of us?”

Sophie blinks. “Pardon?”

“We’ve always wanted the best for you,” her mum says, her voice laced with sadness. “We gave you everything we could, and I hope—” She falters, presses her lips together. “You don’t… resent us for sending you to Spearcrest, do you?”

Sophie flinches ever so slightly. She glances at me, her throat moving in a hard swallow, her breath coming slightly uneven.

“Of course not, that’s not—”

But she stops.

Because she can’t say it. Not without lying.

Her eyes dart to me, panic creeping into her gaze—my bold, courageous Sophie, all her bravery sapped out of her—and I know if she stays here any longer, she’s going to cry, and if there’s one thing Sophie hates more than anything else, it’s crying in front of others.

She pushes back her chair, and I can tell her legs are unsteady under her.

“I’m sorry, I can’t—” Her voice breaks. “I don’t feel too well.”

“Do you want to go get a cab?” I take her hand and kiss it. “I’ll get this, alright?”

She nods, mutters a goodbye and then she’s gone, disappearing through the restaurant doors and into the cool night air.

Her parents stare afterher, looking lost and dismayed.

I don’t follow immediately. Instead, I inhale slowly, set my napkin down, and meet their eyes.

“She doesn’t resent you,” I tell them, voice measured. “You gave her everything, and she knows it, more than you’ll ever know. You gave her Spearcrest. And without Spearcrest, she never would have made it here.”

Her mum’s lips part, her father shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“But,” I continue painfully, chest tight, gathering my courage to tell them the unvarnished truth. “Sophie had a horrible time there. She was bullied and mocked and isolated. She spent years fighting to survive in that school.” I glance between them. “I know, because I was there. I saw it. And I—” The words lodge in my throat; I force them out. “I was part of it.”

Her mother pales. “You—”

“I wasn’t her friend,” I admit, plain and honest. “I should’ve been. I should’ve helped her. Instead, I made it worse. She deserved better than the way she was treated there, by everyone, including me. But…” I catch my breath. “You know what Sophie’s like. She put her head down and made the best of Spearcrest. Not because it was good or easy, but because she worked herself to the bone, because she’s the strongest person I’ve ever met in my life.”

Her father shifts again, jaw clenched, hands folded tightly over the tablecloth.

“New York isn’t about resenting you,” I finish quietly. “It’s not even about Spearcrest. It’s aboutSophie.Sophie’s life and dreams, Sophie finally allowing herself to be happy. She had a hard time in Harvard to begin with, but she loves it here. She’s happy—she’sthriving. And that doesn’t mean she’s ungrateful. Sophie wants to make you proud, but this is her life, and she deserves to be happy.”