I, too, am a product of social services, but unlike you I fell into the hands of people who couldn’t love me or treat me the way I wanted. I let that decide my future. I let their harsh words and the hurt from them blind me and make me into someone to be ashamed of. Someone whose lifestyle was their end. I don’t want that to be you.

I know you have dreams, not to mention talent, too. You’ve always worked your magic on me and I’ve also seen the women who leave Rose’s and how happy they look. You’re being held back there. I know how difficult it is for someone of your age and background to make a move forward when there’s so much against you. It was very difficult for me, and I went in all the wrong directions for help. I don’t want you to do the same. That’s why you’ll find in this envelope the information on a small allowance fund I’ve set up for you. It will be under the guidance of my solicitor, and he will oversee the payments to you to help you get started with a salon of your own. You’ll also find a ticket to my absolute favorite place on Earth and stay at a place owned by one of my dearest friends for as long as you like.

It’s a magical part of the world with transformative powers.

I’ve also included some fun money. You need a break before you start your brand-new venture and, I hope, brand-new life. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see your transformation, but I’m pretty sure you’ll do me proud.

I wish you all the best in your future, Annie. I hope you’ll remember me, and maybe one day do something good for someone else who might need it.

In the meantime, enjoy La Dolce Vita.

Felicity

Annie’s eyes misted afresh as she read the words the older woman had written. How had someone who barely knew her, really, seen something in her that no one else did? She took a chance on her, a chance that no one in Annie’s life had ever taken before, except her dad. Yet Felicity had done even more—she’d invested in her.

“You won’t regret it,” she whispered as she looked down at the coast of Italy. “I promise you won’t.”

“Did you say something?” The lady seated next to Annie gave her a strange look. She was in her late sixties, with mostly gray hair and small framed glasses. She wasn’t smiling. In fact, Annie had been sure up until the moment she spoke that she was sleeping.

She blushed. “Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

“Maybe next time speak more softly,” the woman muttered. “I was trying to sleep.”