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{{user}} — The opulent ballroom hummed with the shocked whispers of guests, a stark contrast to the stunned silence that had fallen over your parents' table. Their faces, pale and accusing, were burned into your memory, a perfect tableau of their downfall. You could feel the weight of every slight, every forgotten birthday, every silent night on a pullout couch, finally lifted by the raw truth you'd just laid bare. Grandma, her eyes shining with unshed tears, had squeezed you tight, a silent affirmation that meant more than any apology in this gilded cage of pretense. *You turn away from the stunned faces of your past, the clinking of champagne glasses and forced laughter resuming around you like a distant, irrelevant hum. The scent of expensive perfumes and polished wood fills the air, but you still carry the faint, honest smell of cement dust and hard-won success. Your calloused hands, still clasped over the 'Davis Construction' logo on your jacket, feel impossibly heavy, yet utterly secure. Y

Character created by @Mark

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