Page 2 of Cruel Promise

Because of my father, I wasn’t allowed to learn much as a child.

So, now that I’m free of him, I love to take the opportunity to learn as much as possible.

“Hi, Ava,” a male voice says behind me.

I turn around and give Jason a smile. “Hi.” Jason is cute, with blond hair and nice bone structure. His hair color is similar to mine, which makes a lot of people around campus mistake us for siblings. We’re just friends, though. He introduced himself to me at the beginning of the year, and I felt immediately safe around him.

I haven’t felt safe around that many men before.

“Can I carry your books?”

“Oh, sure.” I hand them over. Jason always offers, and I always take him up on the offer. It’s sweet.

We walk through campus. It’s starting to get colder with the leaves turning red and yellow. It’s still fairly warm out, which iswhy I wanted to wear my dress one last time before it got too cold. Winters in New Haven can be brutal.

“Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?” he asks.

“I have to get to my next class. But maybe later.”

“You always have to get to your next class,” he says in a tone that surprises me. It’s strangely … bitter.

“I worked hard to get into Yale. I’m not going to do anything to mess that up.”

“I understand.” He gently touches my arm. “We can grab that coffee later.”

I nod at my books in his hands. “Can I have those back?”

For just a heartbeat, he hesitates then hands them over.

“See you later, Jason.” I walk away before he answers.

I drive thirty minutes every day to get to my mother’s apartment. It’s a lot smaller than the house I grew up in, but this smaller, cramped apartment makes me a lot happier than the large house I remember.

The main reason is because my father is no longer around.

“Hi,” I say as I enter the apartment and set my books down on the kitchen table. One of the legs wobbles, but I’ve gotten used to it and barely notice anymore.

Mom is bent over a pot on the stove, stirring something. “How was school?”

“It was good as usual. I have a ton of reading to do.”

“Well, you were the one who wanted to go to Yale.”

I make a face at her as I approach. She smiles back and wraps her arm around me.

“Did I ever tell you how proud I am that you accomplished that?”

“Every day,” I remind her.

“Then I’ll say it again. I’m so proud of you, honey.” She kisses the top of my head before turning back to her food.

“What are you making?”

“Carrot stew.”

We both stare at each other for a moment before laughing.

“It’s horrible,” she says. “But I’m trying.” Mom is not a natural cook because we had a chef growing up. It was paid for by my father.

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