My parents only paid for her studies because they said she had potential, unlike me, and four years later, at our graduation ceremony…

Three weeks before the end of my final year, Victoria found me at the library.

Third floor. Narrow alcove. Iced latte trembling in his hand.

“Francis… what are you doing here?”

It was as if I had entered a space that wasn’t meant for me.

I closed my book slowly.

“Mom and Dad don’t know,” I replied.

She looked at me for a long time.

For the first time, she had no remarks.

Just a silent question.

Back to the stadium.

The ceremony coordinator approached me, checked my scarf, then the printed program.

He turned pale.

“Miss Townsend… please stay close to the stage.”

The curtain opened slightly. The microphone emitted a faint electrical hum.

The president returned to the podium.

“And now, I have the honor of introducing…”

My father raised his camera.

Target trained on Victoria.

He was unaware that he was aiming for the wrong future.

The stadium fell silent.

“…this year’s recipient of the Academic Excellence Award and the valedictory address… Francis Townsend.”

A collective breath.

I got up.

The world seemed to slow down.

My father lowered his device, confused.

My mother blinked as if she hadn’t heard properly.

Victoria remained motionless.

I went up on stage.

The president shook my hand for longer than expected.

“Is that correct?” he had asked backstage upon discovering my financial history, my awards, my publications.

Yes.

That was correct.

The rest is on the next page