We gathered at Del Monaco’s, one of Seattle’s most elegant restaurants. Crisp white tablecloths, golden chandeliers, and the low murmur of wealth filled the room. I had reserved the private dining space myself, paying for every meal, every bottle, every detail.
It wasn’t about showing off. After years of side jobs, student loans, and relentless work, I simply wanted one evening to celebrate something I had truly earned.
I greeted each guest with a polite smile that never quite reached my eyes. Professors, colleagues, my supervisor from the consulting firm where I had just secured a full-time role, and classmates who seemed genuinely proud to be there.
Then my parents arrived.
Susan and Robert Adams looked polished as always, perfectly dressed and composed, as though the celebration somehow belonged to them instead of me.
They brought no flowers.
Not even a card.
Ashley wasn’t there either.
