My mind throbbed with a horrible premonition.
And that prediction came true a few weeks later.
My family’s attitude changed in an odd way after that confrontation.
Before, I was reprimanded on every phone call and at every weekend meeting for refusing to intern at the company or for my chosen field’s lack of value to the family.
However, their tone drastically shifted just a few days after I dared to present environmental data on the dinner table and promise to report them.
My mother began phoning me more frequently and stopped asking me about my job goals or my grades.
Rather, Mom asked what dishes I loved so the chef could make them or what kind of flowers I wanted on the tables at my graduation dinner.
I even received a brief SMS from my father:
In advance, congratulations. You’ve accomplished something worthwhile.
A shiver went down my spine as I read those words. I had never in my life received any appreciation from my father. I was not comforted by this shift. I became much more suspicious as a result.
On the rooftop of The Peninsula Chicago, where each glass wall opened to a panoramic view of the city, they promised to host a lavish celebration.
“You deserve a celebration worthy of you,” my mother stated in a pleasant, fake-sounding tone over the phone.
I answered, forcing a courteous smile that she couldn’t see:
“Yes, Mom, thank you.”
However, I knew in my heart that my parents never did anything without conditions.
I devoted the last few days before graduation to completing the research files for my group and meticulously crafting a self-defense strategy.
In case I vanished, I kept three copies of the environmental data: one at the university, one on my own hard drive, and one with my supervising professor.
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