The Second Vow

The Second Life

Chapter Six: The Second Life

The wind felt different in Geneva. Brisk. Clean. Free.

Catherine stepped off the train with a toddler in one arm and a diaper bag slung across her shoulder. The boy—now three—held tightly to her other hand. Their lives packed into two suitcases and a future still unwritten.

She exhaled. This was it.

The Early Years

Switzerland wasn't easy.

She thought leaving everything behind would be the hardest part. But rebuilding herself? That was war.

ETH Zurich—prestigious, elite, and grueling. Catherine stood out immediately—not for brilliance, but because she was always the one with a baby carrier in her hand and textbooks under her arm.

German classes by day, engineering calculus by night. She fed Mira between lectures, rocked Leo through his night terrors, and studied with a baby monitor crackling beside her bed.

The tiny apartment she rented on the outskirts of Zurich was cramped but safe. Leo and Mira shared a cot pushed up against the wall while Catherine often fell asleep at the kitchen table, cheek pressed to pages of thermodynamics.

One night, while Mira teethed and Leo refused to sleep without his dinosaur blanket, Catherine collapsed onto the couch and cried into her hands.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered to the ceiling. “I’m not enough.”

But she kept going.

Every test, every paper, every sleepless night. She didn’t just push—she clawed forward.

Then came Freda.

They met in a structural analysis class.

Catherine was running late—again—Mira strapped to her chest in a baby sling. Most students stared, annoyed or confused.

But not Freda.

She was a tall, confident girl with bold curls and a louder laugh. She leaned over the aisle and whispered, “Honestly, I can’t even manage one houseplant. And here you are managing two kids and a full course load?”

Catherine blinked, caught off guard, then smiled. “Barely managing, but… thanks.”

“I’m Freda.”

“Catherine.”

“Nice to meet you, chaos incarnate.”

That was the beginning.

They started sitting together. Freda would take notes when Catherine had to step out to calm a crying Mira. Catherine would help Freda review formulas over late-night takeout at the student café.

One chilly afternoon, they walked home together after class, Catherine pushing a stroller.

“You’re kind of a legend, you know,” Freda said casually.

Catherine glanced over. “Me?”

“You’re raising two kids and passing Dr. Weber’s mechanics course. That man chews people alive.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Catherine said softly. “They need me to succeed.”

Freda nudged her playfully. “Still, it’s impressive. Most people drop out. You show up. Every day.”

That night, Freda stayed for dinner—boxed pasta and overcooked broccoli. Leo insisted on telling her all about dinosaurs. Mira flung mashed peas everywhere.

Freda didn’t flinch.

“You’re amazing with them,” she said later as they cleared the dishes.

“I try,” Catherine murmured, drying a bowl. “Sometimes I feel like I’m failing at everything. School, parenting… breathing.”

“You’re not failing,” Freda said firmly. “You’re fighting. There’s a difference.”

From then on, Freda was there.

She helped with school pickups when Catherine’s classes ran late. She made flashcards for finals. She kept a pacifier in her bag and a snack in her coat pocket—for Catherine, not the kids.

One night, as they studied side by side at the apartment table and Leo snored softly on the couch, Freda looked at her and said, “When we graduate, I’m dragging you to Greece. You deserve sun and silence and wine. Lots of wine.”

Catherine laughed. “If I pass materials science, I’ll drink two bottles.”

“You’ll pass,” Freda grinned. “You’re too stubborn not to.”

Catherine stared at her friend—really looked at her. “You’ve been a lifeline, you know.”

Freda smirked. “You’re my most chaotic, sleep-deprived, brilliant friend. I’m not going anywhere.”

And she didn’t.

They grew up together in those years. Through the pressure of exams, the exhaustion of single motherhood, the endless juggle of being everything at once. Freda never treated her like she was broken or burdensome.

She treated her like Catherine mattered.

And in doing so, she helped Catherine remember that she did.

It was the week of their final presentations.

The culmination of months of work: the structural redesign of a collapsed historical bridge site. Catherine and Freda had poured everything into it—late-night sketches, digital models, endless calculations.

But life never waited for good timing.

The crisis struck on a rainy Tuesday.

Catherine got the call during a lab. Mira had fallen at daycare—hit her head. She was conscious, but there was bleeding. Catherine froze, the glass beaker in her hand shattering on the floor.

Freda rushed over. “What happened?”

“Mira. Hospital. I—I need to go.”

“Go,” Freda said without hesitation, grabbing her things. “I’m coming with you.”

At the emergency room, Catherine paced the hallway, her hands shaking. Mira was inside with a nurse. Leo sat on a bench beside her, silent but wide-eyed.

Freda returned with vending machine snacks and two cups of tea.

“She’s going to be okay,” Freda said quietly, handing her a cup. “Kids bump their heads all the time.”

Catherine looked up, eyes brimming. “But what if it’s worse? What if I wasn’t paying attention enough?”

Freda knelt beside her. “You’re doing everything. Studying. Raising two amazing kids. Starting over from nothing. And you’ve done it alone for so long. But you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Catherine’s voice broke. “I feel like I’m constantly holding everything up with thread and duct tape.”

Freda smiled gently. “Welcome to engineering.”

That made Catherine laugh, tears streaking her face. “I don’t want to lose her.”

“You won’t,” Freda said. “You’re the strongest person I know, but even strong people get scared. You’re not failing, Catherine. You’re surviving.”

The doctor finally came out—Mira had a mild concussion, but no permanent damage. She needed rest and monitoring.

Catherine collapsed into the seat, her breath shaking with relief.

Freda squeezed her hand. “Now let’s finish that damn project, okay? I’ll carry your part if I have to.”

Catherine met her eyes. “No. We’ll carry each other.”

Two days after Mira's accident, the final presentation loomed. Catherine hadn't slept more than a few hours. She stayed up rocking Mira during the night and double-checked every beam load and failure point on the structural simulation during the day. She was running on caffeine and sheer willpower.

Freda was already in the auditorium when Catherine arrived, Mira bundled to her chest in a baby carrier, Leo holding her hand. She passed them off to a classmate who had offered to help, kissed both their foreheads, and strode to the front of the lecture hall.

Freda turned as she approached. Her eyes widened at Catherine’s pale face and disheveled hair. “You came.”

“I said I would,” Catherine replied hoarsely.

“You should’ve stayed with Mira—

”

“She’s okay for now. This matters too.” She gave Freda a hard look. “We worked for this. Together.”

Their professor called their names.

The projection screen blinked to life, and Catherine inhaled deeply.

Freda began, her voice steady. “Our project centers on the reconstruction of the Vechigen Bridge in Bern, a 19th-century structure that collapsed due to foundational degradation.”

Catherine took over smoothly. “We proposed a steel-laminated timber hybrid that respects the historical design while reinforcing it for modern safety standards. It preserves aesthetics without compromising structural integrity.”

The room was silent. Every eye on them. Then came the Q&A.

A senior professor—infamously harsh—lifted his hand. “Ms. Torres, you’ve factored for lateral wind stress, but what about the freeze-thaw cycle common in that region?”

Catherine’s mind blanked for a split second. Her lips parted, but no words came.

Freda stepped forward. “We accounted for expansion joints with elastomeric bearings placed at the span’s midpoint and abutments. We also included water-draining capillaries in the laminated timber to prevent freeze cracking.”

Catherine blinked and caught her breath. “Correct. We also modeled those stress responses using ANSYS and verified that displacement stayed within safe tolerances.”

More questions followed, and they volleyed them together like seasoned professionals.

When it ended, polite applause followed—and one of the head faculty nodded in approval.

They stepped off the platform, breathless.

“I froze,” Catherine whispered.

“You’ve been through hell,” Freda said. “And you still stood there and fought. That’s not failure. That’s power.”

Catherine touched her arm. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You don’t have to do anything alone anymore.”

A pause. Then Freda smirked. “Also, I may have applied for that summer internship in Copenhagen. You know… the one with the firm that specializes in restoration?”

“You applied?” Catherine asked, eyes wide.

“I applied for both of us.”

“You—what?!”

“You’re coming with me,” Freda said, eyes gleaming. “They’re reviewing applications as a team submission. I told them we’re a package deal.”

Catherine stared for a moment, stunned.

Then she laughed—really laughed—for the first time in weeks.

And for the first time in a long time, she looked toward the future and didn’t feel fear. She felt free.