ONE MONTH LATER
The red lighton the camera blinked on, and for the first time, I didn’t feel the need to perform. I sat with my shoulders squared, my hands folded loosely in my lap. I wasn’t tense or nervous like I had been a year ago. I was confident in the truth of my story. In the version of events that transpired the night of Julia’s passing.
Before Julia’s death, I would have been worried about my posture, my tone, the way my words might be twisted and dissected, even my outfit. I would have changed ten times, attempting to curate the perfect ensemble. Instead, Noelle helped me pick out a pantsuit. She said I looked like a boss. God, I loved that kid. While I would always appreciate fashion, it had lost some of its novelty to me. Practicality came first, and couture didn’t exactly have a place at a bar and a shelter. My clothes didn’t define me.
I smiled, tilting my head at the angle the producer suggested for lighting purposes. I knew there would be people praying and eager to see me fall again. Now, none of it mattered. Guilt and shame had no place here. I had to let all this go and clear myname to finally live unafraid. They could scream, judge. Extra! Extra! There was a new headline for you to read.
For months I dodged interviews, avoiding cameras and ignoring whispers. I was done running.
“Thank you for being here,” Victoria Moran, a popular morning talk show host, said. Her voice was smooth like honey, but I knew the niceties wouldn’t last for long. It was all calculated like theater. After all, she was known for her hard-hitting questions and no-nonsense approach to conversations. She recounted past events, and I willed myself to stay focused on my motives as she spoke.
“And we’re back with Grace Harrington, a catalyst in the Abernathy exposé. Grace Harrington is a former socialite from the New York party scene, who was faced with her own scandal last year. Her sister, Julia, died from an apparent drug overdose along with complications from being hit by a car outside Grace’s apartment. Grace is accusing Grant Abernathy of supplying the drugs that killed her sister. This places Grant at the scene of Julia Harrington’s death. Grace is the daughter of Jacqueline Harrington, who is no stranger to scandal. Her ex-husband, Simon Harrington, ran off to Italy with his business associate Dante Fitzgerald lll. After refusing to speak on her involvement in her sister’s death, Grace ran away to the small town of Grand Haven and hasn’t spoken on the matter … until now.”
She sat across from me, poised and professional, with a curious glint in her eyes. Always searching for a more salacious story, no doubt. Victoria had interviewed me before—back when my last name had been worth something, before I became a punchline. Before Julia was gone. Before I fell from grace, which led to me finding myself.
“You’ve been out of the spotlight for some time now,” she continued, “but in the wake of your sister’s passing, you’ve re-emerged. Not for social events, not to reclaim your place in high society, but to launch something deeply personal. Why come out of the shadows now?”
I exhaled slowly, not allowing myself to get frazzled.
“It started as something selfish,” I admitted. “I wanted to clear my name and tell my story. I mean, I’m the only one who’s going to tell it. I spent so much time feeling inadequate, and that’s why I left the city. I was lost. Grieving. Drowning in guilt. And I needed something, anything, to pull me out of it. Volunteering made me feel like I was making a difference. I thought if I could help other people, maybe I’d finally feel like I deserved a second chance myself.”
The host tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. “And do you?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The room went silent, but the world kept spinning. I didn’t elaborate because I didn’t need to.
I didn’t need to spell out the nights I’d spent alone, suffocated by grief, loneliness, and agony over my sister’s death, not the scandal. I convinced myself I was responsible. I didn’t feel the need to explain how Caleb helped me overcome the noise. How I wanted to be the best version of myself for Noelle.
Caleb, Noelle, and I discussed all the possible ways this could go wrong, but after explaining why my story should be told, without going into too much detail for Noelle’s sake, we agreed it was the right decision. If it could help one other person, this information needed to be brought to light.
Her eyebrows lifted ever so lightly, surprised. Maybe she’d expected me to waver or shrink under the question. Her questions often made guilty politicians squirm, but I’d spent enough time questioning my worth, letting headlines and whispers define me. I had no space left for that now.
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” I continued. “The people who I’ve met in the shelter, many of them have beenwritten off, discarded, or deemed irredeemable. But I’ve learned that, sometimes, the worst thing someone has done isn’t the realest thing about them.”
Victoria’s expression was unreadable, but she spoke once more. “Your version of events is much different than the other party’s account of the night your sister died.”
The Abernathys had generations of money, power, and a well-honed ability to erase any problem with a flick of their wrist. Compared to them, my family’s messes were child’s play—they made my problems look like the perfect family. I cleared my throat. “I know I can’t change everyone’s mind or convince anyone of anything. And I’m not trying to. But if there’s one person out there who hears this and realizes they aren’t alone, it would all be worth it. Even after we make mistakes, we can get back up–stronger than ever.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed, watching me in a way I couldn’t explain. Maybe she was trying to compare this version of me with the one she had interviewed years ago. “You speak with a lot of conviction,” she said. “But there are still people who will say you’re only doing this to rewrite your story. The ones who think you only care about your reputation. Some would argue you haven’t changed. Your former best friend Cordelia Kensington is vehemently defending Grant Abernathy. She allegedly lied about his whereabouts the night Julia passed. Do you have any comments on that scenario?”
I exhaled, but I didn’t react. “People will say whatever they want to say. They always have.” I glanced at the camera, imagining the people watching. Even the ones who had enjoyed watching my downfall, especially the ones who enjoyed it.
“But here’s the thing,” I continued, my voice calm, unwavering. “For years, I let other people tell my story. I let them tell me who I was. Outside perception defined me until I started believing it myself. But that ended when my sister died. Ionly realized it when I left the city.”The moment I found myself. Meeting Caleb and Noelle changed all that.
Victoria blinked, appearing shocked that I wasn’t going to stoop down to my former friend’s level.
“You don’t feel the need to comment on anybody specifically?”
“Police are reopening the investigation of the night Julia passed. Surveillance footage that had been buried is now resurfacing. It places him at the scene.” I shook my head slightly, refusing to say his name.
“I don’t need to rewrite my story,” I said, a weight lifting off my chest. “I’m finally able to tell my own story. Even the moments I could have been better. Those moments made me the person I am. I turned my pain into something beautiful. ‘A Saving Grace,’ a shelter for the fallen.”
“Tell us about your shelter.” She looked irritated that I didn’t want to play into gossip.
“I started a hybrid shelter/foundation system that is a safe haven for people down on their luck. Everyone falls down sometimes. While some are more graceful, others crash and need support to come back stronger than ever. That’s where we come in. We plan to open branches throughout Upstate New York and eventually trek into the city, hopefully going more widespread.”
“Grace, our number one question from viewers was what if one day you had a daughter who was like you, back in your party days?”
