Lydia's Point Of View
The silence on the other end of the line felt heavy, like a physical weight pressing against my eardrum. I could almost hear the gears turning in my father's head, that slow, methodical pace he always adopted when he believed he controlled the board. Every second stretched into an eternity.
"What do you mean by trouble, Lydia?" His voice finally crackled through, sounding far too calm for my liking. The measured tone set my teeth on edge. "Did something go wrong with the presentation? Did you stumble? I told you to practice that opening segment on the logistics analysis."
A hysterical, jagged laugh escaped my lips… something closer to a sob than genuine amusement. I sat on the floor of my office, surrounded by the wreckage of my desk, and he was asking about my public speaking skills. Papers littered the carpet around me like fallen leaves.
My carefully organized files lay scattered in chaos that mirrored the state of my mind.
