The evening before my academy graduation, my father handed my guest pass to my stepsister without even asking me.
By the following morning, he would be sitting in a reserved seat beside my stepmother, convinced that I was just another graduate in the crowd. He did not know I had been chosen to speak for my class.
When I arrived home after the final rehearsal, I could barely keep my eyes open. From the kitchen, Sandra called out, “Emma, take care of the dishes. Brooke needs to be ready early tomorrow.”
My father was in the living room, absorbed in his tablet. I placed the embossed invitation in front of him.
“I hoped you would come,” I said.
He barely looked at it. Then he passed it directly to Brooke.
She grinned and lifted her phone to take a picture of the pass.
“That invitation is for someone I chose,” I said.
