Chapter 3
Running into Andrew must've triggered it—that night, my dreams were full of the past.
Back then, I was 18, beautiful, top of my class, and full of myself.
After the SATs, I wasn't worried about my scores. I knew I'd aced them.
My parents promised that once exams were over, I could travel alone anywhere I wanted.
I met Andrew at a guesthouse. Some folk song was playing. I found a notebook on the table.
On the first page, in wild, dramatic handwriting: Andrew Grant.
I called the number written inside.
Andrew came downstairs, backlit by the sun, practically glowing.
We got to talking and discovered we were both from the same city, both went to Riverside Boarding School, both had the same school counselor—Lily Foster.
I wanted to apply to his college, but he'd already graduated and was starting grad school.
We biked around during the day. At night, we'd row out on the lake.
Under a sky full of stars, Andrew looked at me. "Olivia, will you be my girlfriend?"
It was my first everything—first hug, first kiss, first time feeling the pain and awkwardness of intimacy.
I loved him completely.
I truly believed we'd spend our whole lives together.
How was I supposed to know that what felt like fate was just his carefully planned revenge?
My dad was the dean of students at Riverside Boarding School.
Riverside was strict—a boarding school with tight supervision.
Teachers rotated through night patrols.
That night was Dad's shift.
He and the security guard caught two students climbing the wall to run away together.
Andrew and his girlfriend, Rachel Vaughn.
Back then, Riverside had a zero-tolerance policy on dating.
The next day during morning assembly, Dad reprimanded them in front of the entire school.
For something this serious, calling parents was standard procedure.
But no one expected what happened next. Rachel, who hadn't cried during the public calling-out, suddenly begged my dad, sobbing.
"Mr. Lane, please don't call my parents."
Dad was furious.
"Now you're scared? Where was that fear before? You brought this on yourself. If you don't respect yourself, no one else will. If you can't keep your dignity, how do you expect anyone else to respect you?
"I have a daughter too, and if she ever humiliated herself like this, I'd break her legs myself!"
But Rachel's dad came and took her away anyway.
What my dad didn't know was that Rachel's father wasn't her real dad—he was her stepfather.
Her stepfather had been eyeing her for a long time.
She sensed the danger, so she begged Andrew to help her escape.
That night, her stepfather raped her, and Rachel killed herself.
Maybe that was when Andrew decided on revenge.
He wanted Dad to see his own daughter "humiliate" herself as Rachel did.
Last night, after I parked, Andrew slammed the door and stormed off, shouting back at me, "Does Mr. Lane even know you're doing shit this low?"
Sitting in the car, I laughed until I cried.
Would it even matter if Dad knew?
So what if he didn't?
Didn't matter—we just had to keep living.
Before Eddie was born, I'd already sold our place.
It was one of those old school staff units with no elevator. Didn't get much for it.
Mom needed regular dialysis, and I couldn't always be there for her.
Getting a caregiver cost a fortune.
Every time I passed an open manhole, I'd wonder how easy it would be to just disappear.
It took everything I had to fight the urge.
How peaceful it would be to let the river close over my head.
How freeing to let the blade break skin.
But I couldn't. I had a mom who was losing her mind, half-paralyzed and dying of kidney failure.
And I had a little boy who needed me.
Dying was a luxury for me.
Mom had a caregiver, but Eddie was totally helpless without me.
My savings were draining fast.
On TV, whenever the heroine hit rock bottom, some billionaire CEO showed up just to humiliate her with his money.
Seriously, where could I even run into one of those billionaire jerks?
Even selling myself, I didn't even know where to start.
I rented a tiny room in the college town, the kind of place broke student couples go for.
It was just one cramped space—once you squeezed a bed in, there was barely room to move.
The rent was dirt cheap, but you had to go downstairs for water.
That was where I ran into Eric Hayes, the first man who ever paid to keep me.
After I finally got Eddie to sleep, I grabbed a basin and headed downstairs to fetch some water.
"Olivia?"
Eric was there. One of his friends rented a room in the building, and he'd come over for cards.
Back in high school, Eric had confessed his feelings for me. I'd turned him down.
My dad couldn't stand him, always saying Eric was just like his nouveau riche father.
When Eric saw Eddie, his face twisted.
"I thought you were some kind of angel. Turns out you're just a slut."
But even as he called me that, he kept coming around.
After seeing how bad things were, Eric finally offered to "keep" me.
He called it keeping me, but really it just meant moving into his two-bedroom rental—nothing fancy, just a kitchen and bathroom.
His family had money, but not enough for him to blow cash like it was nothing.
He paid my bills, kept a roof over my head, and even watched Eddie when I had to run to the hospital for Mom.
I couldn't ask for more.
Even though he was rough in bed—crude, constantly swearing, sometimes hitting me when he lost his temper—I still felt like he was the break fate had thrown my way.
He supported me and Eddie, even took Eddie to preschool himself.
When I finally had some time to breathe, I tried looking for a job, but with just a high school diploma, I couldn't get hired anywhere.
I thought about signing up for adult education classes, and Eric was fine with it.
I stayed with Eric for five years—until he graduated, got a job, and his family started setting up marriage meetings.
He was getting married.
Maybe to make it up to me, or maybe just to cut me loose cleanly, his family bought me a used one-bedroom apartment.
That was where Eddie and I lived now.
"Mom, time to get up!"