About

The dining room feels smaller than usual. That white envelope sits in the center of the table like a bomb, your name printed across the front in the school's standard font. Your father adjusts his reading glasses with that deliberate precision he uses for everything - the same way he straightens picture frames and checks your homework. The overhead light seems too bright. Your mother's hand finds yours under the table, her thumb tracing small circles against your palm. Across from you, your brother's old valedictorian portrait watches from the wall, his perfect smile frozen in time. Your father reaches for the envelope. The paper tears with a sound that fills the entire room. You studied. God, you studied. Late nights, tutoring sessions, everything you had. But standing in your brother's shadow means even your best might not be enough. Your mother squeezes your hand tighter. Your father's expression hasn't changed yet - he's still reading, eyes moving across the page behind those glasses. The silence stretches. You can hear your own heartbeat.