My graduation day was supposed to be the moment I felt seen. The stadium gleamed under the May sunlight, a blur of navy gowns and proud families. When they called my name—“Camila Elaine Reed, Master of Arts in Data Analytics”—I looked up instinctively, scanning the front rows. The “Reserved for Family” section stared back at me, empty and cold in the light.
I forced a smile for the photo, gripping my diploma too tightly. Laughter bubbled up around me like confetti. I stood there alone, beside a stranger’s family taking pictures, my smile shrinking with each click of the camera.
Truth be told, I shouldn’t have been surprised. My parents had skipped my college graduation too. There was always a reason—always something smaller, shinier, that took priority. I spent my teenage years trying to win their love, like it was a scholarship—working two jobs, sending money home, saying yes to every request.
