Page 95 of Filthy Rich Daddies

“I invested in your legacy. I always will.”

I launch myself at him—well, as much as I can with this belly. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth.

“You’re insane,” I say, breathless. “And wonderful. And yes, it’s heavy-handed, but I love it. And I love you.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath. My dad claps him on the back. My mom hugs me again.

And for the first time in years, I let myself feel the whole thing. The victory.

I’m not just graduating today. I’mstartingsomething.

I wake up the next morning with sore cheeks from smiling too much.

No joke—I think I pulled something in my face from grinning through yesterday’s graduation, all the photos, the family brunch, the three separate toasts from my three overachieving boyfriends, and Arabella’s karaoke rendition of “We Are the Champions” that she demanded we all sing along to, harmonies optional and largely unsuccessful. Becca did a dramatic interpretive dance as Arabella caterwauled with Colin.

It’s barely 7:30 a.m. when I sneak out of bed.

The mansion is quiet. The kind of still that only exists when everyone’s asleep and the air hasn’t figured out whether it wants to be warm yet. I pad down the hallway in my softest leggings and an oversized T-shirt that used to be Colin’s—he gave it to me after a bad dream once, and I’ve never given it back. He’s never asked for it back either.

The pool glistens in the morning sun, the surface like glass.

My therapist is already there, seated at the edge in a navy-blue polo and crisp joggers, sipping a coffee and scrolling through her notes on a tablet. Her name is Mina, and she’s exactly the kind of woman you want leading your trauma rehab. Calm, kind, no-nonsense, and always dressed like she coaches at the Olympics. Because she did, three years ago.

The guys said they’d find me the best. They did.

“You’re early,” she says without looking up.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Big day yesterday.”

“You saw the livestream?”

“I saw the photos. You looked proud.”

“I was. I am.”

I sit down beside her, cross-legged, just out of reach of the water. The pool sparkles like it’s daring me to touch it.

“You don’t have to go in,” she says. “We’re just going to talk today. Get comfortable.”

I nod. But I already know I’m going in.

I’ve made my peace with the nursery. Kind of. I walk past it every day now. Sometimes I stop at the threshold and look inside. My heartbeat spikes. My throat tightens. But I don’t turn away.

One step at a time. That’s what Colin said. And today, I want to take one more.

I peel off my socks and roll my leggings up to my knees. The tile is cool beneath my feet as I stand and walk slowly to the edge.

Fear is a chemical reaction. Chemistry can be changed. I can change.

The mantra Mina and I worked on when we started working together. She spotted that science is my go-to for everything, so we designed my mantra around that. It’s a good reminder that my trauma is not me. It’s something I experience. That’s all it is. And I can stop experiencing it with practice.

The first dip of my toe into the water is jarring—not because of the temperature, but because of the memories. But I breathe.

Fear is a chemical reaction. Chemistry can be changed. I can change.

Mina’s voice is low and even behind me. “What do you feel?”