My dad dumped me on the highway in my cap and gown just to make room for my sister’s giant orange Hermès box, then leaned over with a smirk and said, “Bentleys don’t carry failures—take the bus, Alyssa.”

I stared at the box and then back at him. “You are dropping me on the interstate because of a gift box.”

My father’s jaw tightened. “The stadium is ten minutes away and you can take the bus.”

My mother Evelyn made a small sigh from the passenger seat beside him while adjusting her sunglasses. She had perfected the art of sounding sympathetic without lifting a finger.

Courtney sat beside her scrolling through her phone with perfect nails gleaming beneath the light. She did not turn around because she already understood she was safe.

My father leaned closer across the console and lowered his voice slightly. “Bentleys are not meant to carry disappointments.”

He pressed the door lock and said, “Alyssa, take the bus.”

Cold air rushed into the car the moment I stepped onto the asphalt. Traffic thundered past while the wind pushed my gown against my legs like a restless flag.

My father did not check if the door had closed before pressing the accelerator. The Bentley surged forward and vanished down the highway while the smell of exhaust drifted around me.

I stood on the shoulder wearing a crooked cap and a wrinkled gown while staring at the empty road ahead. I did not cry or shout.