Page 261 of Ruin My Life
“Is something wrong?” Hope asks gently, pulling me out of the memory. I realize I’ve probably been staring too long, making her uncomfortable.
I blink, heat rising to my cheeks. “No—sorry,” I say quickly, letting go of her hand. “You just remind me of someone I miss a lot.”
Her expression softens immediately. She doesn’t pry. Doesn’t ask. She just gives me that quiet, warm smile—one I think Amie would’ve liked.
I glance around the room and realize everyone’s watching. Half-curious, half-cautious.
“Everyone,” I say, sitting up a little straighter, “this is Hope.”
I introduce her to each of them.
Dahlia pulls her in for a warm hug, murmuring something kind in her ear. Monroe gives her a solemn nod—which, for him, is basically the equivalent of a hug and a handwritten card. Chavez flashes his signature two-finger salute, paired with that boyish grin.
Damon steps forward and rests a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, low but sincere. “For helping rescue the love of my life.”
Both Hope and I blush.
Of coursehe had to say that out loud. In front ofeveryone.
Lee is the only one who doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He just…stares. Not rudely—more like he’s buffering. It takes Monroe nudging his shoulder for him to blink and remember how introductions work.
“Uh—I’m Lee,” he says, stumbling over his own name. “Nice to, um, meet you.”
Hope just smiles at him like he isn’t a lovestruck idiot. “It’s really nice to meet all of you.” Then she turns back to me. “I wish I had this many friends willing to sit with me if I ever ended up in the hospital.”
I follow her gaze—sweeping across the room: Dahlia’s gentle eyes, Monroe’s guarded watchfulness, Chavez’s easy spark, Lee’s awkward charm, Damon’s ever-burning devotion.
And something warm settles deep in my chest.
It clicks, finally, with a certainty that doesn’t need to be shouted to feel true.
“Not friends,” I tell her, and my voice doesn’t shake when I say it.
Because it’s true.
They’re not just friends.
“They’re my family.”
Epilogue
Brie
One Year Later
MY SHOES ECHO SOFTLY AGAINST THEcobblestone path as I make my way through the courtyard.
A warm breeze threads through the trees, cutting through the thick end-of-spring heat. The other graduating students are scattered across the city—some crawling through bars to celebrate the end of exams, some staging photo shoots on MIT’s grand steps, others prepping for the big graduation ceremony next week.
Me?
I already have what I came for.
I hold the diploma in my hand—Bachelor of Science in Computer Science and Engineering. No cap, no gown, no stage walk while strangers clap politely. This paper is enough. This moment is enough.
When I look down at it, I swear I can feel my dad’s hands on my shoulders, warm and proud. I can hear my mom’s teary voice, cracking with joy as she tells me she knew I’d do it.
And for the first time since I lost them, I don’t feel haunted. I feel held—embracedby the memory.
