September brings the rhythm of graduate school.
My cohort is small—eight PhD students, all intense and brilliant and slightly neurotic. We bond over impossible reading lists and the terror of our first seminars.
"You're that Bella Chen," one student—Rachel—says during our first class break. "The foundation director."
"And the girl from the news," another adds. "The whole biological father thing."
I brace for judgment.
"That must have been brutal," Rachel continues. "Media everywhere, everyone having opinions. How did you handle it?"
"Therapy. Lots of therapy. And focusing on work."
"Well, your thesis on power dynamics was incredible. I cited it in my application essay."
The acceptance catches me off guard. Not everyone is judging. Some people just see the work.
My advisor is Profe
