Summer's Crucible- Chapter Ten: One Good Thing Can Turn it Around

The morning was chilly, with a low ceiling of clouds that promised rain but seemed in no hurry to deliver it.

Summer had nowhere in particular to be.

Perfecto Burger and Catering had closed for renovations, with plans to reopen under a new name before the next tourist season. The owner had assured the staff that the closure was temporary, although he had made no promises about rehiring anyone.

Summer suspected he was in no position to make promises.

His recent divorce had cost him the controlling interest in the business, and the future of the restaurant now rested largely with his former wife.

Summer wished them both well.

She simply wished their marital difficulties hadn't cost her another job.

Unfortunately, her bills showed no inclination to take a vacation alongside her employer.

Rent was due.

Utilities were due.

Her remaining medical expenses continued to demand attention.

And her savings, once a source of considerable pride, had dwindled to an amount she preferred not to examine too frequently.

Summer had long since abandoned the idea of maintaining anything resembling her former standard of living.

She now occupied a tiny studio apartment furnished with a mixture of secondhand purchases and the few possessions she hadn't sold.

Her expensive clothing was gone.

So were most of her decorative belongings.

Anything of value that she didn't absolutely need had eventually found its way onto an online marketplace.

She had become remarkably skilled at distinguishing necessities from luxuries.

A functioning refrigerator was a necessity.

A matching set of dishes was not.

A comfortable mattress was a necessity.

A decorative headboard was not.

And a car that reliably transported her to work was infinitely more valuable than one that impressed strangers.

There was a time when Summer had been embarrassed by such compromises.

Now she regarded them as practical.

What troubled her was not the absence of luxury.

It was the possibility that no amount of work would ever allow her to regain financial stability.

She had spent years earning an education, developing professional skills, and carefully managing her money.

Yet illness, unemployment, and other people's misconduct had repeatedly undermined her progress.

She sometimes wondered whether this was simply how her life would continue.

A succession of low-paying jobs.

Temporary housing.

Unexpected expenses.

And just enough income to keep herself from falling completely behind.

She disliked the thought.

More than that, she disliked how familiar it was becoming.

Her efforts to recover additional money from Mimsy had produced little.

The civil case had progressed far enough for the attorneys to investigate the available sources of recovery, but their findings had largely confirmed Summer's suspicions.

Mimsy was insolvent.

Her retirement savings were gone.

Her house was heavily encumbered.

Whatever remained of her assets was subject to competing obligations, including debts and the restitution ordered in the criminal case.

Summer's attorney had been candid.

Winning another judgment against Mimsy would not necessarily put money in Summer's pocket.

She could spend years attempting to collect from someone who had little left to surrender.

Summer had therefore agreed to concentrate on the avenues that offered a realistic possibility of recovery.

It was a disappointing decision, but a rational one.

She had already lost enough money because of Mimsy.

She wasn't going to lose the rest merely to prove a point.

Her most promising prospect was an entry-level position at a private securities firm.

The job was well below the level of responsibility she had once held, but it offered a reliable salary, benefits, and the possibility of advancement.

Summer was more than willing to start over.

She had performed well during the telephone interview.

The subsequent panel interview, conducted by video, had been even more encouraging.

The interviewers seemed impressed by her education and previous experience.

For the first time in months, she allowed herself to imagine returning to work that actually used her professional abilities.

The final step involved an in-person meeting with a background-screening specialist.

Summer had already completed an extensive packet of employment information, authorizations, and supporting documents.

Seventy-six pages, including attachments.

She had spent hours gathering old employment records, verifying dates, and making certain everything was accurate.

After her experience with the fraudulent accounts opened in her name, she was particularly careful about discrepancies.

She also knew how easily a background check could become complicated when a person's employment history involved failed businesses, medical leave, and employers whose reputations had deteriorated.

One of her former employers had been implicated in financial misconduct.

Summer had never participated in it, but she remained uneasy about having the association appear during a screening.

She hoped the meeting would be routine.

It wasn't.

The morning of the appointment, Summer dressed as professionally as her limited wardrobe allowed.

She selected a simple blouse, tailored trousers, and a jacket that had survived her many rounds of selling unwanted possessions.

The weather was humid enough to make her makeup feel unpleasantly heavy.

She examined herself in the mirror.

Her foundation had begun to settle unevenly.

She considered washing it off and starting again.

Then she looked at the time.

“Good enough,” she told her reflection.

She gathered her documents and left.

At the firm's headquarters, an older woman greeted her near the reception area.

“Hello. I'm Gillian. I'll be conducting your screening interview today.”

Summer shook her hand.

“It's nice to meet you. I'm Summer.”

Gillian glanced at her paperwork.

“Susan?”

Summer frowned.

“No. Summer.”

“Oh.”

Gillian studied the page.

“I was going to ask you about that other name.”

Summer hesitated.

“What other name?”

“We'll get to it.”

The woman led her toward the elevators.

Summer followed, puzzled.

She had never used Susan as an alias.

She didn't even know anyone whose name might reasonably have become associated with her records.

Given the identity theft she had experienced, the discrepancy concerned her.

She intended to clarify it as soon as they sat down.

Gillian ushered her into a small office and took a seat across from her.

“Before we begin,” she said, “I've been doing this for twenty years.”

Summer smiled politely.

“That's quite a lot of experience.”

“Yes, it is.”

Gillian opened the packet.

“Now, about Susan.”

Summer straightened.

“I'd actually like to clear that up. My name is Summer. I've never used Susan.”

Gillian tapped a pen against the paper.

“I found it associated with an email address.”

“May I see it?”

Gillian hesitated.

“It's in the screening information.”

“Is it an email address I supposedly used?”

“That's what I'm trying to establish.”

Summer nodded.

“I've been the victim of identity theft. If another name is associated with my information, I would like to know where it came from so I can correct it.”

Gillian frowned.

“Well, I'm just telling you what's in front of me.”

“I understand. I'm trying to help you verify it.”

The woman made a note in red ink.

Summer watched her.

She had expected a professional discussion about an apparent records discrepancy.

Instead, Gillian seemed irritated that the discrepancy had been questioned.

“Your family information is incomplete,” Gillian continued.

Summer glanced at the packet.

“I included my adoption records and the identifying information requested on the form.”

“Your parents' information is missing.”

“My biological parents' information isn't available to me.”

“What about your adoptive parents?”

“I provided the information I have. I'm not in contact with my adoptive mother.”

Gillian clicked her tongue.

“That's going to make verification difficult.”

Summer kept her expression neutral.

“Which part of the verification requires it?”

Gillian looked up.

“Excuse me?”

“I'd like to understand what information is missing. If there's something I can reasonably provide, I'll be happy to do so.”

The woman wrote another note.

Summer could feel the interview deteriorating.

She had submitted the documents requested of her.

She had explained the unusual circumstances of her family history.

Yet every answer seemed to create another objection.

Gillian turned to a different page.

“You also have a gap in your employment history.”

“Yes.”

“You'll need to account for that.”

“I already did in the packet.”

Gillian looked down.

Summer continued.

“I had surgery and required a period of recovery. Afterward, I returned to work.”

“Were you medically prohibited from working for that entire period?”

Summer paused.

She hadn't expected to be questioned about the details of her medical restrictions.

“I had a serious spinal condition that required treatment,” she answered carefully. “I followed my medical team's recommendations during recovery.”

Gillian frowned.

“That doesn't really answer the question.”

“The dates are accurate,” Summer said. “I wasn't employed during that period.”

“But why weren't you working?”

Summer looked at her.

“Because I was recovering from surgery.”

Gillian made another red mark.

Summer felt a familiar weariness settle over her.

She had been through enough interviews to know when someone had stopped listening.

Still, she remained polite.

The position offered health insurance.

She desperately needed health insurance.

She was willing to tolerate a certain amount of discomfort for the opportunity to regain it.

After several more questions, Gillian leaned back in her chair.

“Well, these are all problems.”

Summer looked at the packet.

“What specifically needs to be corrected?”

“Your family history is incomplete. Your employment history has gaps. And there are discrepancies with your identifying information.”

“I can provide documentation for anything that needs verification.”

Gillian shook her head.

“Frankly, I don't see many employers wanting to deal with all this.”

Summer stared at her.

The remark was so openly dismissive that, for a moment, she couldn't think of an answer.

Gillian continued.

“People like me have to sort through these things. It creates extra work.”

Summer glanced at the heavily marked pages.

She had spent days assembling that information.

Now the woman responsible for reviewing it seemed to regard Summer's circumstances as a personal inconvenience.

“I've provided accurate information,” Summer said quietly. “If something is incorrect in a third-party report, I'd appreciate the opportunity to dispute it.”

Gillian closed the folder.

“We're finished here.”

Summer remained seated for a moment.

“Will I receive a copy of any report used in the hiring decision?”

“That would be handled through the appropriate department.”

“Thank you.”

Summer stood.

She collected her belongings and walked out.

She kept her shoulders straight despite the stiffness in her back.

She wasn't going to give Gillian the satisfaction of seeing how badly the meeting had upset her.

Summer reached her car and sat behind the wheel.

For several minutes, she did nothing.

Then she drove home.

She washed off her makeup, changed into comfortable clothes, and lay down.

Her phone vibrated.

A message from Gillian.

The firm would not be moving forward with her application.

The timestamp showed that the message had been sent only minutes after Summer left the building.

She stared at it.

The decision had apparently been made almost immediately.

Summer wondered whether the entire meeting had been intended to document reasons for rejecting her.

The questions about her adoption and medical history had felt intrusive.

The unexplained alias was particularly troubling, given her history of identity theft.

She knew enough to recognize that employment screening was subject to rules, including procedures for certain third-party background reports and restrictions on disability-related inquiries.

She considered requesting the screening report and asking for a written explanation of the decision.

Then she looked around her apartment.

There were unpaid bills on the counter.

Another job application was waiting on her computer.

And a stack of medical correspondence she hadn't yet addressed.

Summer closed her eyes.

She was tired of fighting.

Not because she believed Gillian had treated her fairly.

But because every dispute seemed to require time, money, and emotional energy she no longer possessed.

She saved the message and made a note to request the records.

Then she put the phone aside.

For several days, Summer struggled to recover her optimism.

She had been so close.

A professional position.

A salary.

Health insurance.

The possibility of rebuilding the career she had once enjoyed.

Now she was back where she had started.

She found herself wondering whether employers saw anything beyond her employment gaps and the complications of her personal history.

Perhaps the woman she had been before her surgery no longer existed in any meaningful professional sense.

Summer disliked the thought.

Yet after years of setbacks, it was becoming increasingly difficult to dismiss.

She spent several afternoons submitting applications.

The process felt mechanical.

Upload résumé.

Enter work history.

Explain gaps.

Answer questions.

Wait.

She wondered how many times a person could begin again before the effort itself became exhausting.

Then Heather called.

Summer almost didn't answer.

She was in no mood for conversation.

But something about the repeated calls worried her.

She picked up.

“Hello?”

“Summer?”

Heather sounded upset.

“What's wrong?”

“Can you come get me?”

Summer sat up.

“Where are you?”

“At Morgana's.”

“Are you okay?”

A pause.

“Not really.”

Summer asked a few more questions.

Heather's answers were confused and evasive, but she insisted she wasn't in immediate danger.

Summer told her to stay where she was.

Then she gathered her keys.

She had very little money for gasoline.

But Heather had asked for help.

Summer wasn't going to ignore her.

When Heather climbed into the car, Summer barely recognized her.

She had lost weight.

Her face was drawn, and her complexion had taken on an unhealthy pallor.

She seemed restless, alternately agitated and exhausted.

Summer looked at her.

“Heather, what happened?”

Heather stared through the windshield.

“Morgana kicked me out.”

“Why?”

“She caught me with somebody.”

Summer waited.

“One of my clients.”

“Oh.”

“It was a one-time thing.”

Summer wasn't certain whether Heather meant a sexual encounter or something else.

She didn't press.

Heather rubbed her arms.

“Morg's been getting into my stash.”

Summer glanced at her.

“What stash?”

Heather didn't answer immediately.

Then she muttered, “I just needed one hit.”

Summer felt a cold sensation settle in her stomach.

“Heather.”

“What?”

“What have you been taking?”

Heather looked away.

“It's not a big deal.”

Summer said nothing.

Heather continued talking, increasingly defensive.

She complained about Morgana, the yoga studio, money, and the pressure of maintaining her online business.

Her explanation wandered from one grievance to another.

Summer listened.

She remembered how energetic Heather had once been.

How quickly she laughed.

How easily she turned even an unpleasant situation into a joke.

The woman beside her seemed almost entirely consumed by anxiety and resentment.

Summer realized that Heather's decline had been developing for much longer than she understood.

She had noticed the changes.

She simply hadn't known what they meant.

Summer pulled into a gas station.

She filled the tank with the smallest amount she thought would get them where they needed to go.

Then she stepped inside and called Cecilia.

She explained what Heather had said and described her appearance and behavior.

Cecilia became alarmed.

“Bring her here,” she said.

Summer hesitated.

“I don't want to make things worse.”

“You won't. Bring her home.”

Summer also contacted Rusty so he would know Heather was struggling and where she would be staying.

She didn't attempt to diagnose Heather over the telephone.

She simply told them what she had observed.

When she returned to the car, Heather was staring at her phone.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Your mother.”

Heather looked up sharply.

“Why?”

“Because I'm worried about you.”

“Summer!”

“Heather, you need somewhere safe to stay tonight.”

“I can stay with you.”

Summer looked at her.

“My apartment barely has room for me.”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“This isn't just about sleeping arrangements.”

Heather folded her arms.

“Whatever.”

Summer started the engine.

Heather realized where they were going when Summer took the road toward the coast.

“You're taking me to my mom's?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't ask you to do that.”

“I know.”

Heather stared at her.

“I asked you for help.”

“And I'm helping you.”

“By dumping me on my parents?”

Summer felt the accusation.

For a moment, she was tempted to explain herself at length.

To apologize.

To promise that she would find a way to make everything easier.

Then she remembered how many years she had spent trying to solve problems that other people refused to confront.

She kept her eyes on the road.

“Heather, I love you. But I can't give you what you need right now.”

Heather looked away.

Neither spoke for several miles.

Eventually, Summer said, “Your mother wants you there. She knows you're coming.”

Heather didn't answer.

Summer let the silence remain.

Cecilia was waiting when they arrived.

She came outside before Summer had even turned off the engine.

The moment she saw Heather, her expression changed.

She approached the passenger door and gently asked her daughter to come inside.

Heather hesitated.

Then she climbed out.

Summer followed.

For a moment, the three women stood beside the car.

Cecilia thanked Summer quietly.

Summer shook her head.

“Please call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Heather looked at Summer.

Her expression was difficult to read.

Anger, embarrassment, exhaustion.

Perhaps all three.

Summer stepped forward and hugged her.

“I'm sorry things are so hard right now.”

Heather didn't return the embrace immediately.

Then she did.

Summer held her for a moment.

“I love you,” she said.

Heather nodded against her shoulder.

Summer stepped back.

She wanted to tell Heather that everything would be fine.

That Morgana would forgive her.

That whatever substances she had been using could be put aside without difficulty.

That her business and relationships would return to normal.

But Summer didn't know any of those things.

And she had learned that promises made merely to comfort someone could become another kind of dishonesty.

Instead, she said, “You don't have to figure everything out tonight.”

Heather wiped her face.

Summer gave Cecilia one last look.

Then she returned to her car.

She drove away knowing that Heather's recovery, whatever it might require, would have to involve Heather's own willingness to accept help.

Summer could support her.

She couldn't do the work for her.

The drive home was long and quiet.

Summer thought about the many ways people could become trapped in circumstances they had once believed they controlled.

Mimsy had pursued youth until she destroyed her finances.

Landon had spent years avoiding responsibility.

Bailey had made resentment the organizing principle of his personality.

And now Heather, who had once seemed so confident and independent, was struggling with something she had hidden from everyone who cared about her.

Summer felt sad for them.

She also felt an unexpected sense of gratitude.

Her life had been difficult.

But at least she was no longer responsible for protecting other people from the consequences of their decisions.

She thought of Landon, and for a second she wondered if her life would be easier if she were still with him. However, she quickly shook the notion.

There had been a camping trip years earlier that she remembered with peculiar clarity.

Landon had insisted on planning everything himself.

He had refused her offers to help, assuring her that he had accounted for every detail.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten to pack food.

Summer had some leftovers from work in her lunch bag.

Rather than admit that she had saved them from an unpleasant situation, Landon had become irritated.

He threw her lunch bag into the campfire.

At the time, Summer had been bewildered.

She had spent the rest of the evening trying to understand why he was angry with her.

Now the memory seemed almost absurd.

He had preferred that they both go hungry rather than acknowledge that she had been better prepared.

Summer shook her head.

She had mistaken that kind of behavior for an occasional bad mood.

In truth, it had been a warning.

She was grateful she no longer had to spend her evenings explaining herself to someone who regarded her competence as a threat.

She hoped Landon had become a better husband and father than he had been a partner.

But whether he had was no longer her concern.

Summer returned to her apartment late that night.

She was tired, worried about Heather, and uncertain about her own future.

Still, she felt no temptation to call Landon.

She didn't wish Mimsy were there.

She didn't long for Bailey or any of the other men who had briefly passed through her life.

She wanted companionship, certainly.

But she no longer confused companionship with rescue.

She would rather live modestly on her own terms than return to a comfortable household where her peace depended on someone else's mood.

It wasn't an especially romantic realization.

It was, however, one she had earned.

The weeks that followed brought little improvement in Summer's employment prospects.

Eventually, she accepted a seasonal cashier position at a large retail store.

The work was far below her qualifications.

She took it anyway.

The holiday rush was exhausting.

Customers crowded the registers.

Schedules changed constantly.

And the long periods of standing aggravated her back.

Summer wore supportive footwear, followed the restrictions she had been given, and

requested accommodations that allowed her to sit periodically rather than remain on her feet throughout every shift.

Even with those adjustments, she returned home sore and depleted.

She hoped the temporary position might eventually lead to a management opening.

For the moment, it provided an income.

She reminded herself that there was dignity in earning a living, even when the work wasn't what she had trained to do.

The people around her knew her as a quiet, capable employee.

Most had no idea that she held an MBA or had once worked in finance.

Summer didn't volunteer the information.

She had stopped needing strangers to be impressed by her.

It was during this period that Ethan Koval called.

Summer recognized the law firm's number and almost let it go to voicemail.

She was standing in her kitchen, trying to decide whether she could stretch the remaining groceries through the weekend.

She answered.

“Hello?”

“Summer? It's Ethan from Druttle and Telksen.”

“Hi, Ethan.”

“I have some news.”

Summer braced herself.

“We've reached a tentative settlement with Dr. Wentz's insurer.”

She stopped moving.

“What?”

Ethan explained that the firm's investigation had uncovered evidence concerning the handling of financing applications associated with Mimsy's cosmetic procedures.

The clinic had disputed wrongdoing, but its insurer was willing to resolve the civil claims rather than continue litigating the matter.

The proposed agreement included a payment to Summer in exchange for releasing specified claims.

It also contained confidentiality provisions.

Summer listened carefully.

“How much?”

Ethan told her.

She sat down.

For a moment, she couldn't speak.

The figure wasn't enough to make her wealthy.

It wasn't going to restore the years she had lost or undo the damage Mimsy had caused.

But after legal fees and expenses, it would leave her with a meaningful sum.

Enough to pay outstanding bills.

Enough to establish an emergency reserve.

Enough to stop living from one paycheck to the next.

“Summer?” Ethan asked.

“I'm here.”

“Do you want us to send the final documents for your review?”

“Yes,” she said.

Then, more firmly, “Yes, please.”

The settlement took time to finalize.

Summer reviewed the agreement, asked questions about the release and confidentiality terms, and made sure she understood the amount she would receive after the firm's fees and expenses.

She also confirmed that the settlement would not require her to misrepresent what had happened or interfere with any obligations arising from Mimsy's criminal case.

Once the documents were signed and the funds cleared, the firm contacted her to arrange delivery of the proceeds.

Summer went to the office on a cold afternoon shortly after the holidays.

Ethan greeted her with a smile.

“It's good to see you.”

“You too.”

He handed her the settlement statement and confirmed the payment arrangements.

Summer examined the figures.

Everything was as expected.

For several seconds, she simply looked at the amount.

She had spent years watching money disappear.

Medical expenses.

Lost wages.

Rent.

Transportation.

Legal costs.

The ordinary expenses of surviving one setback after another.

Now, for the first time in a very long while, a meaningful sum was coming back to her.

She felt an almost physical sense of relief.

“Have you decided what you're going to do with it?” Ethan asked.

Summer smiled.

“I have a few ideas.”

“Anything exciting?”

“Not particularly.”

He laughed.

“That's probably wise.”

Summer considered the question.

“I'll keep enough in reserve to cover my living expenses while I look for something more permanent. I want to pay off the remaining bills and make sure I don't have to rely on credit if something happens.”

“That sounds sensible.”

“And I'd like to invest some of it.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of investments?”

“Mostly healthcare. Pharmaceuticals, medical technology, diagnostics. Companies with products and research pipelines, I think, have long-term potential.”

Ethan looked thoughtful.

“That's a complicated sector.”

“It can be.”

“Risky, too.”

“Certainly.”

He smiled.

“Just remember, the stock market can be a gamble if you don't know what you're doing.”

Summer almost laughed.

There it was again.

A stranger explaining financial risk to her without knowing anything about her professional background.

But Ethan meant well.

He had been helpful throughout the case, and his concern seemed genuine.

She didn't feel the need to correct him sharply.

“I'll be careful,” she said.

He nodded.

“Good.”

Summer gathered her documents.

Then she added, almost playfully, “I suppose we'll see how my choices look this time next year.”

Ethan laughed.

“Fair enough.”

Summer thanked him and left.

Outside, the air was cold enough to sting her cheeks.

Summer pulled her jacket closer and walked toward the parking lot.

She had already begun researching the companies she intended to invest in.

Her interest wasn't based on a tip from a friend or an advertisement promising spectacular returns.

It came from years of professional experience and an increasingly personal familiarity with the limitations of modern medicine.

She understood that pharmaceutical research was expensive and uncertain.

Promising treatments failed.

Regulatory decisions could alter a company's prospects overnight.

A breakthrough in the laboratory didn't necessarily translate into a profitable product.

But she also understood the enormous value of effective treatments, reliable diagnostics, and the technologies that allowed researchers to develop them.

Her own medical experiences had made those subjects more than abstract financial categories.

She had spent years waiting for treatments that might relieve her pain or restore function.

She knew how much patients were willing to endure for the possibility of getting their lives back.

And she knew that healthcare innovation was not a passing fashion.

Summer had no intention of placing all her money into one speculative company.

She planned to keep a substantial emergency reserve, diversify her investments, and limit her more ambitious positions to amounts she could afford to leave untouched.

She had worked too hard to regain financial stability to risk everything on a single prediction.

Still, she was excited.

For the first time in years, she was thinking about what her money might accomplish rather than how long it would last.

As she crossed the parking lot, Summer passed a crew dismantling a billboard advertising the city's New Year's celebration.

The last decorations from the festivities were being taken down.

2020 appeared in enormous lettering above a photograph of fireworks.

Summer glanced at it.

A new decade.

She wondered what it might bring.

Perhaps a better job.

Perhaps a home of her own.

Perhaps an opportunity to return to the kind of professional work she had once loved.

She didn't know.

Nobody did.

Across the world, researchers were pursuing new treatments, refining diagnostic technologies, and developing tools that might one day change the practice of medicine.

Some of the companies Summer had been studying were involved in those efforts.

She had no way of knowing which would succeed.

But she understood the underlying businesses well enough to make decisions she could defend.

That was all any investor could reasonably ask of herself.

Summer reached her car and paused before opening the door.

She thought about the years behind her.

About Mimsy, whose need for admiration had ultimately destroyed their relationship.

About Landon, whom she had once believed she couldn't live without.

About Bailey, who had mistaken her patience for ignorance.

About Heather, who was now facing difficulties Summer couldn't solve for her.

And about the many jobs, apartments, and plans that had fallen apart despite her best

efforts.

She no longer regarded those years as evidence that she was incapable of succeeding.

She had been injured.

She had been betrayed.

She had made mistakes.

She had also adapted, worked, learned, and continued forward when doing so seemed almost pointless.

There was something to be said for that.

Summer climbed into the car and started the engine.

Her back was stiff, but manageable.

She had bills to pay and applications to submit.

Her future remained uncertain.

Yet the uncertainty no longer frightened her in quite the same way.

She had enough money to make choices instead of merely reacting to emergencies.

She had the education and experience to evaluate opportunities.

And she had learned that the people she loved did not have to approve of her decisions for

those decisions to be worthwhile.

Summer wasn't rich.

Not yet, anyway.

She smiled at the thought.

Wealth had once seemed like something other people possessed, something that might offer her security if she could find the right employer, partner, or family arrangement.

Now she understood that genuine security came from having resources she controlled and the confidence to use them wisely.

She didn't need another Landon to provide for her.

She didn't need Mimsy's approval.

She didn't need Bailey's admiration.

And she didn't need to prove her worth to someone like Gillian, whose judgment had rested on a few pages of paperwork and a handful of assumptions.

She had already spent too much of her life allowing other people to decide what she was capable of.

Those days were over.

Summer pulled out of the parking lot.

The road ahead was busy with the ordinary movement of people beginning another year.

She joined the traffic, feeling lighter than she had in a very long time.

For once, she wasn't driving toward someone who needed her to fix a problem.

She wasn't fleeing an argument.

She wasn't returning to a home where she would have to explain how she had spent her day.

She was simply going home.

Her own home.

To make plans for her own future.

And whatever the new decade brought, she intended to meet it with the same determination that had carried her through everything else.

Summer had spent years believing that surviving was the best she could hope for.

Now, at last, she had something left over with which to build a life.

She didn't know how far it would take her.

But for the first time, she was looking forward to finding out.