I smoothed down the front of my blue silk dress.

I felt the weight of my phone in my pocket.

It vibrated twice.

I pulled it out and saw a text from my mother.

*Come to the reception room now. We need to talk about your performance.*

The word *performance* stung, a familiar weapon from her arsenal.

She always viewed my achievements as theatrical acts meant to serve her social standing.

“I’m going,” I told Priya.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“This is family business.”

I walked toward the exit that led to the main building.

The corridor opened into a bright, carpeted hallway lined with oil portraits of past university presidents.

The chatter from the reception rose in volume as I neared the double oak doors of the faculty room.

I stopped outside the brass handles.

Through the leaded glass window, I could see my mother standing near the fireplace.

She wore a tailored cream suit, her pearl necklace catching the light.

Her face was set in a hard, familiar line.