The Keys to Her Own Future
Eighteen years old at that ruined party; twenty-two now, and walking into a life that was entirely her own.
She was finishing at the top of her class in mechanical engineering — and doing it entirely debt-free, thanks to the fully restored trust my father had left her and her own relentless late-night work.
She had never asked for a handout.
She had only ever asked for a fair chance.
That phrase had become a kind of quiet creed between us in the four years since the party.
A fair chance — not a guarantee, not a shortcut, not the effortless golden road Presley had been promised and then lost.
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