Vicky would remain with me.
I was still only nineteen.
But I was her brother.
And for the past three months, I had been the person getting her up in the morning, feeding her, taking her to school, comforting her at night, and making sure she knew that someone was still there.
After the hearing, Denise cornered me.
“You just wanted to make sure nobody could touch Vicky’s money,” she accused.
I looked at her.
“No,” I said.
“The money belongs to Vicky.”
That was all.
There was nothing else I needed to explain.
That evening, after Vicky had gone to sleep, I sat on the edge of my bed and opened my backpack.
Inside was an old college envelope.
My acceptance information.
The same envelope Denise had pointed to when she told people I had thrown away my future.
For months, I had believed that maybe she was right.
Maybe college was over.
Maybe the life I had planned was gone.
Maybe being Vicky’s guardian meant giving up everything I had once wanted.
But that night, I looked at the envelope differently.
I hadn’t chosen to abandon my future.
I had chosen to protect my sister.
Those were not the same thing.
The next morning, I called the college admissions office.
I explained my situation.
Then I asked a question I hadn’t allowed myself to ask for months.
“What options do I still have?”
There was a pause.
Then the admissions counselor began explaining what might be possible.
For the first time since the fire, I felt something I thought I had lost.
Hope.
Later that day, Vicky found the college envelope beside my laptop.
She looked at it.
