Ashley stared at her school planner like it was a war map. Monday through Friday, seven periods a day, weekly quizzes, group projects, and the dreaded gym class. At fourteen years old, she used to coast through school – smart enough to get by, but too distracted to reach the top. That wouldn't cut it this time.
Grades were the first domino.
Maybe it was his guilt, but even with his infidelity, her dad made sure all three of them were in prestigious schools. At least until her mom's death. It was one of the biggest reasons why her mom, a housewife, was forced to stay in this loveless marriage. She wanted to make sure her children get the best Ryan can offer. If she wanted scholarships later, and if she wanted to protect her mom from being financially dependent on Ryan, she needed to be excellent. She needed options.
So she sat down at her desk with a highlighter in one hand and a mug of weak hot cocoa in the other, and started planning.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of effort and observation.
Ashley paid attention in class like never before, taking notes as if she were prepping for grad school instead of basic algebra. She read ahead in textbooks and quietly helped kids who were struggling without making it look like she was showing off.
Teachers started noticing.
"You've really improved, Ashley," her teacher said one day as she handed back a quiz. "Keep it up."
Ashley beamed. Recognition wasn't her goal but it felt good. Stable. Like proof that she was doing the right thing.
By the second month, the changes started to ripple outward.
Ashley threw herself into her classes. She read ahead, asked questions, and studied hard. Not just to get better grades, but to build the foundation she knew she'd need later.
Her teachers noticed. So did Helen.
"You're really focused lately," Helen said one evening as she packed snacks into Tupperware.
"I want options later," Ashley replied. "You know. So you don't have to worry about me."
Helen looked at her for a moment, then kissed the top of her head. "You've always been a little too grown-up."
Ashley smiled. You have no idea.
At home, she started encouraging Arthur in small ways.
She found him sketching after dinner one night, a pencil clenched in his left hand. He was drawing one of the cats that liked to sit on their porch, its tail exaggerated into a dramatic swirl.
"That's awesome," she said, peering over his shoulder.
Arthur looked defensive. "It's just something to do."
"It's more than that," Ashley said. "You're good. You could do art professionally, you know."
Arthur snorted. "Nobody makes money from drawing cats."
"You could," she said gently. "If you get support. If you studied the business side of it too."
Arthur looked at her strangely, like she'd just told him the sky was green. But he didn't argue.
Later that week, she saw him browsing through merch made by artists. Planting a seed in his young mind that maybe he can do it too.
One domino tipped.
Then another.
Anthea was still young – sweet, smart, a little shy. In the old life, Ashley remembered how her baby sister had clung to her after Helen passed, how she'd grown up too fast, her dreams held hostage by guilt.
Now, Helen was alive. And Anthea had a chance to be a child for longer. Ashley made a mental note to remind her of that every chance she got.
"Want to do crafts after dinner?" Ashley asked her one night.
Anthea lit up. "Can we make paper cranes?"
Ashley smiled. "As many as you want."
She folded the first one carefully, thinking: Each one is a promise. This time, I'll make sure you fly.