“Director Bennett!” he cheered, laughing as several passing students turned to smile at his unbridled joy.
“You’ll have your own office, your own research staff, and a salary that means you never have to work a night shift again,” he celebrated.
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“And best of all, I am only forty minutes down the Massachusetts Turnpike from you,” I reminded him with a wink.
We laughed together in the clean, crisp morning air, two survivors who had crossed an ocean of hardship without losing our dignity.
We had arrived in Cambridge with secondhand luggage and eighteen years of scars, and we were leaving with our heads held high.
The past was finally settled, the debts were paid in full, and our horizon was entirely our own.
PART 10: The Sovereign Name
Four years later, the lawn of Harvard Yard was once again filled with thousands of white folding chairs beneath the towering elms.
