“You did a good job with the wiring, Sarah,” he said quietly.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said.

He looked toward the stairs, where the sound of my mother’s footsteps had already faded.

He gave a small, tired sigh and walked up the steps after her.

Marcus didn’t even look up from his notepad as the heavy metal door clicked shut behind them.

“So,” Marcus said, pointing to the screen.

“Tell me about this clinic on sector three.”

I spent the next twenty minutes explaining the grid layout, showing him the actual data on our screens.

I showed him the high failure rates of the city’s main grid during high-wind events.

I explained how our battery systems could bridge the gap for up to twelve hours.

Derek pulled up the original schematics we had designed in our kitchen two years ago.

The photographer took photos of the grease-stained blueprints and the raw copper wiring hanging from the ceiling.

It felt good to talk about the actual engineering instead of my academic resume.

It felt good to speak without having my words polished and filtered by my mother’s expectations.