Emily woke up before the sun. The room was still dark, the early morning silence pressing gently around her. For a moment, she lay still, listening to the slow hum of the ceiling fan and the faint purring of the house cat outside her door.
Her mind immediately drifted back to the message Grace had sent the night before:
You've been approved for a placement in the engineering pathway. Orientation begins Monday.
She hadn't been dreaming.
It was real.
The words played over and over in her head like a soft anthem. Something inside her—something quiet and long-buried—stirred. It felt like remembering how to breathe.
She reached for her notebook on the nightstand, opened it to the page she had left blank the night before, and wrote down one word in the center:
Possible.
Then she sat up and began to get ready.
⸻
Monday came quicker than expected.
Clara offered her a ride to the HopeBridge Career Prep Center. "You'll like it," she said cheerfully as she turned the keys in the ignition. "The building's nothing fancy, but the staff's great. A few of them were HopeBridge students themselves."
Emily nodded, clutching her bag a little tighter. She had packed it carefully the night before: notebook, pen, water bottle, and a secondhand calculator someone had left in the house drawer with a sticky note that read "Take me if you need me."
The drive was short but quiet. Clara didn't press her to talk, which Emily appreciated. Instead, she watched the town roll by—the sidewalks still wet from dawn rain, the trees fluttering with new green leaves. For once, the world didn't feel like it was closing in. It just felt… wide.
When they arrived, Clara parked in front of a small brick building with large glass windows and a faded sign that read HopeBridge Pathway Center. A mural on one side of the wall depicted students holding tools—paintbrushes, wrenches, textbooks—and the words "Build the future you deserve."
Emily stared at it for a long second, her heart pounding in her chest.
"You ready?" Clara asked gently.
Emily opened the car door. "I think so."
Inside, the air smelled faintly of printer ink and lemon-scented cleaner. The front desk receptionist, a kind-looking woman with box braids and bright purple glasses, gave her a welcome packet and waved her toward the orientation room.
Emily followed the hallway and slipped into the classroom.
There were about ten students already seated, some chatting, others scrolling through their phones. A few looked older than her. One boy wore a backpack covered in patches; another girl had headphones around her neck and was sketching quietly in a notebook.
No one stared at her.
No one whispered.
The coordinator, a young woman with a cheerful energy and a name tag that read Lani, stood at the front. "Welcome, everyone! I'm so glad you're here. Today's about discovery, not pressure. You're not here to prove anything—you're here to grow."
Emily exhaled slowly, her grip on her notebook easing.
Lani led them through introductions, handed out folders with their academic tracks, and then took them on a tour of the small campus—two classrooms, a workshop, a shared computer lab, and a quiet lounge with beanbags and shelves stacked with books and student designs.
Emily's fingers brushed the spine of a robotics textbook.
When the 3D modeling session began, she sat at one of the computers and watched as the instructor pulled up a simple design program.
"We'll start small," he said. "Design something that can hold weight. A box, a triangle frame, a bridge—whatever you want."
Emily stared at the blank screen. Her hands hovered over the mouse and keyboard, uncertain.
But slowly, as the software began to feel familiar again, she let herself remember—how angles fit together, how load worked, how lines connected to make something solid. Not perfect. But strong.
She built a simple truss bridge.
Nothing fancy. But it held.
The instructor came by, nodded. "Nice symmetry. That's good work."
And just like that, something bloomed in her chest.
She wasn't broken. She was still here.
After the session, Lani handed her a slip of paper. "You're officially in. Classes begin next week, but you'll have access to the lab and library starting tomorrow."
Emily took the paper with trembling fingers.
"You did well today," Lani added. "Grace was right about you."
"Right?" Emily asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lani smiled. "That you're going to be more than okay."
Back at the safe house, the girls were gathered in the kitchen eating leftover jollof rice and swapping stories about their day. Zoe was complaining about a slow Wi-Fi connection, while Sade was laughing about someone who'd fallen asleep in group therapy.
Emily walked in with her folder in hand.
"How'd it go?" Zoe asked, chewing on a plantain chip.
Emily placed the folder on the table and opened it slowly. The paper inside listed her name, track, and schedule. At the top, in bold font, were the words Engineering Pathway Student – Fall Intake.
"I'm in," she said softly.
Sade raised her cup in a toast. "To the future engineer."
Emily smiled—small, but real.
The rest of the week passed in quiet moments of progress. She returned to the prep center to access the computer lab, even joined a small study group reviewing basic math principles.
She found herself waking earlier, eating better, and sleeping more soundly.
But the weekend brought something new—and far more terrifying.
Her first therapy session.
Saturday morning, Clara drove her to the main HopeBridge campus. The therapy wing was warm and quiet, filled with low sofas and the smell of peppermint tea.
Her therapist was a tall woman with calm eyes and an easy smile. "Dr. Lian," she introduced herself. "You don't have to tell me everything. Just what you're ready to."
Emily hesitated, sitting across from her in silence for a long time.
Then, just before the session ended, she whispered, "They hurt me. And no one did anything."
Dr. Lian didn't push. Just nodded. "That's where we'll start."
Emily stepped back into the sunlight afterward, unsure of what she felt. But it wasn't dread.
It was… something lighter.
A door opened. A wound acknowledged.
She wasn't healed. Not even close.
But she was moving.
And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.