My family told me not to come over on New Year’s Eve because “I’d just make everyone uncomfortable,” so I spent the night alone in my apartment. But at 12:01 a.m., my brother called—his voice shaking. “What did you do? Dad just saw the news, and he’s having trouble breathing…”

After the speech, I checked my phone. Hundreds of messages. Women who had filed complaints against bosses stealing credit. Young girls declaring computer science majors despite their parents’ wishes.

You gave me permission to exist, one message read.

I moved to San Francisco in March 2025. I needed an ocean between me and Greenwich. I bought a small apartment near Dolores Park with bay windows and no columns.

In June, Synapse Loop announced a $50 million partnership with Johns Hopkins. We were saving lives. Real lives.

My father visited once. We had dinner. He is trying. He is in therapy. He asks about my code. He doesn’t mention Mom, and I don’t ask. I hear she spends a lot of time in the Hamptons now, avoiding the Greenwich social scene where she is no longer the queen bee.

Lucas sent me one email. An apology. I lost my way, he wrote. I hope one day you can forgive me.

I didn’t reply. Forgiveness is a gift, and I’m not in the business of giving away my assets for free anymore.

December 31st, 2025.

One year later.

My apartment in San Francisco was crowded. My team—ten brilliant, chaotic, wonderful engineers—was debating the physics of Interstellar while eating Thai takeout.

At 11:59 p.m., we stood by the window looking out at the city lights.

“To Ava,” my co-founder said, raising a paper cup of champagne. “The woman who refused to vanish.”

We clinked cups.

I thought about the girl sitting alone in the cold Cambridge apartment exactly one year ago. I thought about the family that had toasted to a lie. I thought about the firestorm I had ignited.

People ask me if I regret it. If the loss of my family was worth the billion-dollar valuation.

But that’s the wrong calculation.

I didn’t lose my family. They lost me when they chose reputation over relationship. They lost me when they decided I was currency rather than kin.

As the fireworks exploded over the Bay, painting the sky in gold and violet, I finally understood the value of what I had done. I hadn’t just saved my company. I had saved myself.

And looking around at the faces of the people who actually respected me, I realized something else.

I wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

I was just finally, undeniably, here.