As I tried to silently skirt around the dining room archway, Victoria's high-pitched voice broke like a wet towel.
“Clara. Stop groveling.”
She sat at the head of the dining table, meticulously painting her nails a blood-red crimson. She didn't bother to look up. With a pointed, well-manicured finger, she pushed an imposing stack of grease-stained porcelain plates to the edge of the table.
“Clean those up before you go to bed. Haley has a very important brand partnership meeting tomorrow morning, and we can’t have the kitchen looking like a slum. You know how sensitive she is to visual clutter.”
In the corner, seated in a leather chair, Thomas finally looked up from his gleaming tablet. He was a man who measured total value in profit margins and networking opportunities. His logistics company was currently bleeding money, a fact he tried to hide behind tailored suits and country club memberships.
"Just do it, Clara," Thomas muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "And try not to make too much noise. I'm expecting an email from a pharmaceutical representative."
I froze, exhaustion settling into my bones. My throat tightened. I dug my raw fingers into the strap of my bag, feeling the stiff edge of the envelope I'd carried all day. I took a deep, shaky breath and pulled it out. It was a single gold envelope containing a VIP guest pass.
“Dad,” I began, my voice barely above a rasp. “My graduation ceremony is this Friday. Because of this year’s safety protocols, I only get one guest ticket. I was really hoping you could come…”
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