The corridor smelled of polished wood and perfume, a scent that spoke of power and wealth. Claire breathed deeply, trying to calm her nerves. The cold marble beneath her heels felt solid compared to the knot in her stomach. Adjusting her blazer, she stepped forward—professional, but not stiff; confident, but not arrogant.
She had rehearsed for this moment, but now the air felt heavy. A voice interrupted the silence: “They’re waiting for you.” Claire turned to see a woman in her fifties with a skeptical look. Claire squared her shoulders, determined.
Walking into the conference room, the space exuded wealth. A large mahogany desk, sleek leather chairs, and the city skyline glowing through massive windows. Three people waited at the table. The man in the middle, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, held up her résumé. “Impressive,” he said, before adding, “But let’s address the elephant in the room. You’re twenty-eight. We envisioned someone more experienced.”
Claire didn’t blink. “Experience isn’t just about time. It’s about mileage.” She explained how she’d worked since eighteen, putting herself through school and building her career. The room shifted. The woman at the table smiled subtly. The man in gray stood, extending a hand. “Welcome aboard, Claire.”
Later, Claire walked into her apartment, relieved and proud. Lisa raised her glass. “Told you!” Claire laughed. “It wasn’t easy. They practically counted my wrinkles.”
As she relaxed, Claire noticed a familiar envelope among the mail—a letter from her parents. She hadn’t seen them in years. The letter revealed hospital bills in her father’s name. Claire’s pulse raced. She hadn’t expected this, especially after they abandoned her at eighteen. Now, she had to understand why.
The house was unchanged, but Claire’s return felt different. Her mother rushed to embrace her, but Claire stiffened. “Where’s Dad?” she asked. Her mother hesitated, explaining he was in the hospital, and then asked for money. Claire went to the bank, only to discover the “hospital” account wasn’t registered to a medical provider. It was private.
Angry, Claire confronted her parents. In a tense moment, her father admitted, “Your success? That’s because of us.” Claire’s voice was steady, but firm: “No. I made me.” Her mother’s tone shifted. “You can’t just walk away.”
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