The mocking started before they had even called my name.

By the time I reached the graduation stage with a newborn sleeping peacefully against my chest, the whole auditorium appeared to have already decided that I was an em.bar.rass.ment.

I heard somebody behind me murmur, “Just like its mother.”

I held baby Noah a little tighter.

I was twenty-two, graduating at the top of my class, and an orphan who had spent half my life hearing that people like me should appreciate whatever leftovers they were offered.

The person laughing the hardest was my aunt, Marlene, the very woman who had raised me after my parents p@ssed away and reminded me constantly that every meal, outfit, and bed she provided created debts I could never fully repay.

Sitting beside her was her daughter, Vanessa, dressed in the white honor stole she had taken from me using a fabricated disciplinary accusation.