Chapter 7: The View from the Top
One Year Later.
The Connecticut heat was back, but this time, I wasn't feeling it through the decorative rocks of my parents' backyard. I was feeling it on the balcony of my new penthouse office in Manhattan, the headquarters of the newly rebranded Rose & Hayes Foundation.
I pressed the button on the armrest of my custom titanium wheelchair, maneuvering myself closer to the edge of the glass railing. The skyline was breathtaking.
Tyler was serving twenty-five years with no chance of early parole. My parents, utterly disgraced and bankrupted by legal fees, had been forced into a tiny apartment in a town where no one knew their names or cared about their "legacy." They were cut off, permanently.
Behind me, the office door opened.
"Aunt Bridget!" A small voice yelled. Mason, now six years old, ran into the room, holding a drawing of a superhero in a wheelchair.
Lauren smiled from the doorway, looking healthy, radiant, and finally free. She was now the head of the Foundation’s charitable trust, a job she excelled at. "Ready for lunch, boss?"
"Almost," I smiled, taking the drawing from Mason and pinning it to my very expensive corkboard.
May you like
I looked down at my legs. The doctors had said I would never feel them again. But as I sat there in the warm afternoon sun, surrounded by my true, chosen family, I focused all my energy on my right foot. Deep inside the shoe, barely visible but undeniable, my big toe twitched.
It was a small movement. But it was enough. I had survived the fall, and now, I was finally ready to climb.
