They Sang for Her and Saved Me Leftovers I Couldn’t Eat Chapter 10
I heard gossip later from Martha.
Wallis had accomplished nothing at the art school in Berkeley. She spent every day hanging out with a fast-living crowd, partying nonstop and dating a boyfriend.
She acted obedient whenever my parents visited, but secretly burned through every dollar they sent her for living expenses, even maxing out credit cards.
My parents remained completely oblivious. They still believed she was working tirelessly to chase her dream of becoming a famous artist.
Meanwhile, I forged ahead on my own path.
By junior year, I’d secured a research fellowship at Berkeley and earned a glowing recommendation from a Harvard visiting scholar who’d supervised my thesis work.
At the same time, my bond with Spencer grew deeper.
We studied together in the library, competed side by side at tournaments, walked across Memorial Glade discussing literature and ambition.
He remembered every single one of my preferences: that I couldn’t eat onion, that I loved light blue with white polka dots.
On my birthday, instead of ice cream cake, he cooked chicken noodle soup for me himself.
“Sabrina,” he said softly, “I hope every day from now on, you get to eat exactly what you love.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks in that moment. Not from sorrow, but pure happiness.
Around him, I could finally drop my guard, simply be an ordinary young woman worthy of being cherished.
We naturally became a couple.
The day before I flew east to Cambridge, Grandma traveled all the way from our hometown to attend my graduation ceremony and see me off.
She held my hand, looked at Spencer, standing beside me—steady and kind—and smiled without pause. “Wonderful. Our Sabrina has achieved great things, and found someone good to love her.”
She pressed another thick envelope into my palm. “Take care of yourself in the new city. Don’t hesitate to spend money on what you need.”
I hugged her tight, clinging to the warmth of her embrace—the comfort I’d craved most throughout eighteen years of my life.
As I prepared to board my flight, an unfamiliar number called my phone. It was the police station.
“Am I speaking with Sabrina Hill? Your sister Wallis Hill has been taken into custody by our department, charged with credit card fraud and public affray. You are listed as an emergency contact. We’re notifying you for record purposes only. No action is required on your part.”
I froze.
Almost instantly, my parents flooded my phone with calls. This time, I answered.
Mom’s broken, screaming sobs came blasting through the line. “Sabrina! You have to save your sister! You know so many influential people! You have to get her released! She’s your own flesh and blood! You can’t abandon her!”
I listened quietly until she finished crying, then spoke calmly. “First: I’m not her legal guardian. Second: She is an adult now. She must bear responsibility for her own choices. Third: I’m busy. I have a flight to catch.”
“Sabrina! You heartless girl! How could I ever give birth to someone as cold as you!”
I ignored her screaming insults. I hung up, powered off my phone, and boarded the plane bound for the East Coast.
Outside the window stretched endless open sky.
I understood clearly: at that moment, the very last thread connecting me to that family had finally snapped.
I didn’t know, and I didn’t care, what awaited Wallis in the years ahead.
All I knew was that my own future stretched out before me, vast and luminous.