After They Gambled With My Life, I Went to the Scottish Highlands

The apartment door swung open just as I was folding my last waterproof jacket and tucking it into my suitcase.

"See, I told you, Nora's definitely packing a suitcase full of dramatic stuff to scare us." Sophie's bright voice carried in first. "Ethan, a bet's a bet. Don't forget to send me the coffee money."

Ethan followed behind her, carrying a new portable tea set and a map of Bath's old town. He set everything down in the entryway, and his gaze fell on the thick wool socks, hiking boots, and camera rain cover in my suitcase. His brow furrowed slightly.

"What are you packing all this for? It's Bath, not the Alps."

I didn't answer.

Ethan didn't seem to notice my silence. He pulled out his phone and held up a ticket purchase page in front of me. "I got you a replacement open ticket. No guaranteed seat, but Sophie and I will take turns letting you sit once we're on the train. Last night we took things too far. Don't be upset."

He sounded gentle, and even reached out like he always did, trying to ruffle my hair.

I turned my face away, dodging his hand.

"I'm not going. Have a good trip."

I shoved my toiletry bag into a gap in the suitcase and zipped up the inner compartment.

Sophie immediately leaned in and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. "Come on, what if I switch seats with you? I'll stand, you sit. That's being a good enough friend, isn't it?"

She batted her lashes, as if she were making some enormous sacrifice.

I held the handle and pried her fingers off one by one. "Don't touch my things."

Sophie froze for a second, and her eyes turned red almost instantly. She stepped back half a pace and looked at Ethan with wounded eyes, as if I had bullied her for no reason.

Ethan's face darkened. He instinctively pulled her behind him. "Nora, you don't need to be this hurtful. Sophie was just trying to joke around with you. Do you really have to keep giving us the cold shoulder?"

He sighed, his tone dripping with condescending patience. "I know you saved up for a long time for this trip. Haven't I already gotten you a replacement ticket? Once we get to Bath, I'll cover all your meals and the difference for accommodation. Isn't that enough?"

In his eyes, buying a seatless replacement ticket and tossing some money my way was the perfect compensation.

He didn't understand at all. What I cared about was never the difference of a few dozen pounds.

What I cared about was that I'd been tossed onto their betting table over and over again, and even the timing of when I would discover I'd been hurt could become a chip in their game.

I looked at his self-righteous face and couldn't even muster the energy to argue.

Just then, my phone buzzed on the table.

It was an email from the review committee of the European Young Documentary Photography Residency Program.

This was the only spot the university could nominate this year, and it was directly tied to my first real job after graduation. For my submission, I had spent an entire month living in a mountain village in northern Wales. On the coldest days, I went out at four in the morning, carrying my camera and walking for hours on frost-covered mountain paths, just to capture the light falling on the old men who made their way to the church before dawn.

I opened the email. A few cold lines filled the screen.

"Dear Ms. Nora Bennett, the submitted work Where the Wind Passes contains numerous unrelated stickers, mocking slogans, and additional graphic layers that severely compromise the authenticity and integrity of documentary photography. After deliberation, the review committee has revoked your eligibility for this year's program."

I stared at the screen. Something roared inside my head, and my mind went blank.

Attached at the bottom of the email was the final version they had received. I opened the first photo, and my fingers turned ice cold.

Every single photograph I had spent a month capturing now had a huge pink cartoon watermark in the bottom right corner. The watermark read: Scaredy-cat Nora Conquers the World.

Against the bleak mountain wind, a grinning cartoon pig was pasted next to an old man's wrinkled face. A string of colorful balloons floated above the solemn black-and-white portrait in front of the abandoned mine shaft. Even the photo of the miner's widow holding her husband's old safety helmet had been stamped with a line of deliberately crooked text: Be happy today.

The entire collection looked like a cruel mockery.

I looked up at Sophie, who was hiding behind Ethan. "You touched my computer?"

Sophie shrank back, her voice immediately taking on a teary quaver. "I'm sorry, Nora, I just wanted to give you a surprise. Your photos are so heavy and depressing. Nobody feels good after looking at them. I added some cute things to lighten them up a bit. How was I supposed to know the judges would be so uptight?"

The more she spoke, the more wronged she sounded, tears rolling down her cheeks in big drops. "I just thought that all those old people, ruins, and bad weather you photograph every day were too depressing. I was doing it for your own good."

Ethan put his arm around her shoulders and patted her soothingly. When he turned to look at me, his eyes were filled with obvious disapproval.

"Her intentions were good. She just doesn't understand the rules of photography competitions. You lost your spot this year, but you can apply again next year. I believe in your talent. Next year will be even better."

He walked over to me, softening his voice. "Stop making a fuss. I can pay to rent you a small gallery and put on a solo exhibition to make up for it. If the review committee won't give you a chance, we'll create our own. Isn't that just as good?"

No, it wasn't.

A formal residency program would give me mentors, institutional resources, and career recommendations. A gallery he rented with his money would only become another performance proving he had the ability to clean up my messes.

But I didn't explain any of that.

I saved the review committee email, the altered files, and the computer login records, then screenshotted last night's ticket cancellation. I stored everything in a new folder.

Then I zipped up the outer layer of my suitcase and snapped the lock shut.

Ethan watched me and frowned again. "You're really going to leave?"

I didn't answer.

All I felt was that in this apartment, once filled with countless beautiful memories, even the air was suffocating now.