Maybe Wood Valley hired Paloma, who my mom let go shortly after her plea and who I find myself missing on occasion, if only because sometimes it’s nice to have someone to tell you what to do.

Late at night, when I think about the future, my future, the panic still comes like a hand over my mouth. To help, I think about Mrs. Oh, and her definition of the word fine, how it insists that I carry my past so that I can learn to serve myself and the world better.

I think I’m getting there.

When I remember the old Chloe, the pre-scandal Chloe, I feel itchy and uncomfortable, like she’s an old acquaintance I once knew but no longer really like or want to hang out with, which may be exactly how Shola feels about me.

I am an entire person molted.

I prefer the new me, the almost-but-not-quite-fine me. The one made brave and honest from being carved out of the carcass of a monster.

Tomorrow, Dad and I are driving down to see Mom. Because the Federal Bureau of Prisons doesn’t allow you to bring gifts to visiting hours, I’ll have collected my stories for her. I gather all the details about this Isla goodbye—how she was brave and excited and ready. How at work, I found a new grant for the RRC to apply for that could help increase capacity and provide daily snacks and milk. That I taught Cesar his multiplication tables up to twelve. That Kenny’s son Emmet, who recently graduated from Penn Law and joined Kenny’s firm as a first-year associate, though he wanted to go into public interest work, has offered to represent Cesar’s mom pro bono. She might be better off remaining undocumented than risking deportation with an asylum claim, but I like the idea of her having someone on call if the worst comes to pass. Even grown-ups need a laminated card to carry around in their pocket sometimes.

I’ll share the details of my life with my mom, honestly, like they’re a college admissions essay—the unfiltered story of Chloe Wynn Berringer that Mrs. Oh asked me for so long ago.

This time, I’ll simply tell the truth.

Isla walks out into the sunlight, bags thrown over her shoulders.

I feel like clapping with joy and heartbreak. This walk to the Uber is her taking her final bow. She tosses me one last smile over her shoulder.

Love you, I mouth, and take a picture in my mind for my mom.

When Isla goes, she leaves the front door wide open behind her.

AUTHOR’S NOTE