Chapter 10: The One Thing They Could Never Take From Me
By the time I left the university, I had received the news I had spent five years working toward.
My thesis had been accepted, subject to revisions.
The committee had evaluated my research on its merits, and despite everything that had happened that morning, I had answered their questions and defended my conclusions.
I should have felt nothing but happiness.
Instead, I sat in Professor Adrian Shaw's office, staring at the broken glasses in a plastic bag, wondering how my own family had become people I no longer recognized.
“You don't have to go home today,” Professor Shaw said.
I looked up.
“I know.””
“You can stay with a friend, or I can help you arrange temporary accommodation through the university.””
I appreciated the offer, but there was something I needed to do before I could begin thinking about tomorrow.
“I need to get my things.””
He studied my face.
“Are you sure?””
“Yes. But I'm not going alone.””
He nodded.
“We'll arrange that.””
Before we left, Dr. Daniel Bennett called with an update from the research-integrity office.
The university had preserved the relevant records, including the messages on my phone, the suspicious access attempts, and the timeline of events surrounding my missed check-in.
The inquiry was still ongoing.
Marcus Vale's role had not yet been fully established, and the university had not reached a final conclusion about the extent of his involvement.
But the evidence was sufficient to justify a formal investigation.
Lila had agreed to provide a written account of her communications with him.
She had also acknowledged that she had entered my room looking for research files and taken my phone without permission.
Dr. Bennett made one point especially clear.
“Your thesis result and the investigation are separate matters. Whatever the inquiry determines, your academic assessment will stand on its own.””
I thanked him.
For the first time that day, I felt that the process was moving forward without requiring me to sacrifice my future to preserve someone else's reputation.
When Professor Shaw and I arrived at my parents' house, the front door was closed.
The kitchen was silent.
The roll of gray tape still sat on the counter.
So did the untouched jar of jam.
I stared at the place where Lila had stood that morning, laughing over the pieces of my glasses.
It seemed impossible that only a few hours had passed.
My father appeared in the hallway.
He looked tired.
“Your mother is in the living room,” he said.
“Your sister is upstairs.””
“I need to collect my belongings.””
“We can talk first.””
“I don't want to talk right now.””
He frowned.
“I'm still your father.””
“I know.””
“Then you should show me some respect.””
I looked at him for a long moment.
For years, those words would have ended the conversation.
I would have apologized, swallowed my anger, and tried to restore the peace.
But I had learned something that morning.
Respect was not the same as obedience.
And being someone's daughter did not mean surrendering the right to protect myself.
“I've respected you my entire life,” I said quietly.
“That doesn't mean I have to pretend nothing happened.””
His jaw tightened.
“I never wanted you to fail.””
“You told me the defense had already started without me.””
“Because I thought you had missed it.””
“You didn't ask why.””
He looked away.
“I was angry.””
“So was I.””
He had no answer for that.
I walked past him toward the living room.
My mother sat on the sofa, holding a cup of tea she hadn't touched.
When she saw me, she stood.
“Your father says you passed.””
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“The committee accepted my thesis subject to revisions.””
Her eyes
