Diana’s POV
I stood frozen beside my rusty old bicycle, the one Dad gave me for my twelfth birthday. Seven years ago. I’m nineteen now.
The faded paint cracked beneath the weak morning sun as I wheeled it out of the shed. The chain protested with a shrill squeak when I shifted gears.
I’d always whispered to myself how badly I wanted a new bike. But I never dared ask my parents.
Mom and Dad were drowning in debt. Their late-night arguments about bills and overdue payments haunted the house.
Last month, Mom sold all her jewelry, and some nights, dinner was just a bowl of cereal.
So I couldn't possibly ask for a new bicycle. It wasn’t in the cards. I told myself I was okay with that.
Almost.
I took a deep breath, one foot on the pedal, closing the door behind me. “Bye, Mom.”
But then
