In the days that followed, I buried myself in my studies and work.
My aunt, an executive at an investment bank on Market Street, arranged a short-term financial management course for me. Classes ran from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.
My classmates came from all over the world. No one knew my past, and no one asked why I was taking such a basic course at 30.
I relished the anonymity.
After class, I interned at my aunt's firm, starting from the very bottom as an assistant.
I did everything—organizing data, taking meeting minutes, running errands, and delivering documents.
My aunt didn't give me any special treatment, and I didn't ask for any.
By the end of the first week, I was so exhausted that I had blisters on my heels.
By the second week, I began to make sense of the dense financial spreadshe
