Mom opened a drawer, pulled out a roll of gray tape, and slid it toward me.
“Fix them yourself.”
Dad checked the time. “They’ve already started without you.”
That was the point.
For months, Lila had been furious that my doctoral research was attracting attention. I had developed a low-cost diagnostic imaging model that could detect certain retinal abnormalities using hardware clinics already owned. It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked. Two hospital systems were discussing pilot programs, and my advisor, Professor Adrian Shaw, had warned me to keep my files private until after the defense.
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Lila had never cared about my work until she learned that a medical technology company might license it.
Then she started asking strange questions.
How much could it be worth?
Who owned the patent?
Would I “share with family”?
Two weeks earlier, I had walked into my room and found one of my desk drawers open.
So I stopped leaving anything important there.
I picked up the tape but didn’t use it.
Lila laughed. “What? Too proud?”
“No,” I said. “Just thinking.”
She mistook calm for defeat.
They all did.
Dad stood. “You should call the department and apologize. Maybe they’ll let you reschedule next semester.”
