Amelia's POV
The letter sat on my desk like a quiet verdict.
One thin sheet of paper, twelve words that tore through months of hope.
We regret to inform you…
That was how my dream ended—not with a cry, but with silence.
I lay on my bed, the ceiling a blank witness to my failure. The words blurred as tears pressed behind my eyes. I reached for my Bible, tracing verses with trembling fingers, whispering prayers for courage I wasn't sure I possessed.
At fifteen, I thought faith would make disappointment easier. It didn't. The rejection stung sharper because I'd believed so deeply.
My parents had always said, "God's plans are perfect." I wanted to believe that, but right then, it just felt like a lesson I hadn't agreed to learn.
Dad's voice echoed from earlier that day—calm, firm, immovable.
"We do what's right, and what we can afford."
That was his answer when I begged to try again, to apply elsewhere. His tone wasn't harsh, but final—like a door closing gently, yet completely.
Now, the reality settled in: Triple H College would be my next chapter. A big, mixed school. Not my dream, but what we could manage. My cousin and a few friends from junior high would be there, which offered a sliver of comfort. Still, I couldn't shake the thought that I'd somehow failed both God and my family.
Outside, rain whispered against the window, soft but relentless. I watched droplets race down the glass, wondering if life—or I—would ever make sense again.
Tomorrow, I'd start packing. A new school, a new state, a new chance. But lying there in the dim glow of my bedside lamp, it didn't feel like a beginning.
It felt like a punishment dressed as purpose.