The applause around me was loud, almost deafening. But it wasn’t for me, not really. I stood in line on the stage, my black graduation gown draped perfectly, cap pinned in place, the gold tassel brushing against my cheek. The announcer called my name, Samantha Reed, master’s in clinical psychology. I walked forward, chin high, smile tight. Cameras flashed from the audience, but none of them belonged to my family.
Their seats, five of them right in the middle row, sat empty. Before we begin, drop a comment and tell us where are you from and from which city you’re watching our videos. And after watching the whole video, don’t forget to tell us what would you do in this situation.
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I’d known they wouldn’t be here. They were probably clinking champagne glasses right now, celebrating my younger sister Danielle’s bridal shower in my parents’ backyard. Still, the sight of those vacant chairs burned into my chest like acid.
I took my diploma holder from the dean, shook his hand, and forced myself to hold the smile until I stepped off the stage. My heels clicked sharply against the floor as I crossed to the side where graduates were gathering. I flipped open the holder, expecting to see the fancy paper with my degree.
Instead, something slid out. An envelope, plain white, no return address. The paper looked expensive, heavier than normal.
My name, Sam, was handwritten in a familiar, neat style. For a second, I thought maybe it was from one of my professors, but my fingers hesitated. The hum of the crowd seemed to fade away, replaced by the sharp, insistent buzz of my phone in my pocket.
I pulled it out. Seventy-two missed calls, all from mom, dad, and Danielle. The buzzing continued as I stood frozen, my thumb hovering over the envelope’s flap.
Something in my gut twisted. My breath came shallow.
«Sam?» A voice pulled me back.
It was Rebecca, my best friend from the program.
«What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.»
I shoved the envelope back inside the diploma holder, my heart pounding.
«I… I don’t know yet.»
My phone lit up again. Another incoming call.
«Dad?» I declined it without thinking.
Rebecca frowned.
«Why aren’t you answering?»
«Because whatever it is… » I glanced at the crowd, the noise, the lights.
«It’s going to ruin today, and I’m not giving them that.»
The words tasted bitter but felt right. I wasn’t going to let them hijack this moment, not again.
But the phone wouldn’t stop. Over and over, the same names flashing across the screen like a warning. My skin prickled.
My palms slick with sweat. I could feel the envelope pressing against my arm through the holder. By the time the ceremony ended and we walked outside into the bright afternoon sun, I’d made a decision.
I was going to read it. I stepped away from the chattering graduates, away from the smiling professors and the long line of parents, taking photos. I slipped into the quiet corner of the building, the air cooler here, shadows cutting across the brick.