Graduation day.
Manila Hotel was alive with celebration. The chandeliers sparkled, the air smelled faintly of perfume and expensive fabric, and the crowd buzzed with laughter, congratulations, and flashes from cameras. Everyone looked radiant, glowing in pastel dresses and barongs, the joy of achievement shimmering all around.
Everyone except Jessica.
Her gown felt heavier than it should have, her smile practiced and fragile. The pink gloss on her lips barely masked the exhaustion underneath. She had made it, yes, the poor girl from Nueva Ecija who once skipped meals to save for photocopies, who once thought she would never make it this far. But today, with her parents absent and her sister Liza hospitalized again, the victory felt hollow.
Tessa and Mara fussed over her toga, Bea hande
