Then I answered clearly: yes.
I rode the elevator up alone.
In the mirrored walls, I saw a version of myself they had never bothered to recognize—tired, composed, and no longer needing their approval. I didn’t feel victorious. I felt finished.
Because the real ending wasn’t watching them leave.
It was knowing I no longer had to explain who I was to people determined to see me as less.
And when Vanessa called me something that kept coming back where it didn’t belong—she was wrong.
I wasn’t the one out of place.
I was the one who finally owned it.
