Then she hung up.
That night, I sat in my car outside her apartment in a faded brick building near the community college. Her lights were off. I didn’t go in. I just stayed there until sunrise, holding the lottery ticket in my hand and realizing that for the first time in my life, I couldn’t buy my way out of what I’d done.
And what I decided to do next changed everything.
The next morning, I drove to Lily’s apartment complex before she could leave for class. I expected her to slam the door in my face, and honestly, I would have deserved it, but she opened it, stood there with swollen eyes and messy hair, and didn’t say a word.
I told her I was sorry—not the kind of sorry people say to make things go away, but the kind that makes your throat close up because you know it won’t fix anything. I told her she was the only one who ever treated me like a person, not a resource.
She didn’t look at me. She just said she needed to get ready for school and asked me to leave, so I did.
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