My father barred me from entering my own medical school graduation ceremony because my stepmother wanted her daughter to use my ticket. “You’re just a nurse’s assistant anyway, let your sister have her moment,” my father sneered, pushing me toward the exit.

I kept my head down, my heavy canvas tote bag bumping against my hip. All I wanted was the dark sanctuary of my cramped basement bedroom. I had been awake for twenty-two hours. Between rotating patient beds in the pediatric oncology ward and secretly agonizing over the final statistical models for my doctoral thesis in the bio-lab, my mind was fraying at the edges.

As I tried to quietly skirt past the dining room archway, Victoria’s sharp voice snapped like a wet towel.

“Clara. Stop creeping around.”

She sat at the head of the dining table, meticulously painting her nails a blood-red crimson. She didn’t bother to look up. With a pointed, manicured finger, she shoved a towering stack of grease-stained porcelain plates toward the edge of the table.

“Clean those up before you go to sleep. Haley has a very important brand partnership shoot tomorrow morning, and we cannot have the kitchen looking like a slum. You know how sensitive she is to visual clutter.”

In the corner, sitting in a leather wingback chair, Thomas finally looked up from his glowing tablet. He was a man who measured worth entirely in profit margins and networking opportunities. His logistics company was currently bleeding money, a fact he tried to hide behind tailored suits and country club memberships.

“Just do it, Clara,” Thomas muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “And try not to make so much noise. I’m waiting for an email from a pharmaceutical rep.”