"But the paper is on Savannah's phone. How do you plan to pull that off?" Mom asked, hesitant.
"Her phone is ancient," Dad said, brushing it off like it was nothing. "Tell her to get a new one, back it up and send it to Scott."
"Isn’t that a bit much?" Mom asked again, her voice quieter this time.
"What’s too much about it?" Dad shot back, frustrated. "Do you want Scott to get criticized as useless when he starts at the company?"
I didn’t even know how I got back to my room. I crawled under my blanket, but no amount of warmth could stop the chill running through me.
It wasn’t just the cold air, it was the betrayal. How could they do this to their own daughter, just for the sake of an adopted son?
It hit me like a ton of bricks. For them, I had always just been a stepping stone. Profit over people, that was what they believed.
Any sliver of love or loyalty I had left for them was completely gone in that moment.
The next morning, Dad handed me a phone, just like he said he would. But it wasn’t exactly shiny and new.
The box was dusty and he awkwardly wiped it with his sleeve before giving it to me.
"Savannah, graduation’s coming up soon. I got you a second-hand phone, almost like new, 90% at least. You should use this one. People might laugh if you’re still using that old thing when you start working," he said, pretending to be thoughtful.
I looked at him, then at Mom, who was practically beaming, waiting for me to thank them. But I just shook my head.
"No, Dad. This phone probably cost you two months' salary. You haven’t even paid back the money you borrowed for my tuition. You should return it," I said calmly.
They spent ages trying to convince me, but I didn’t budge. Eventually, Dad gave in, probably worried he would expose himself if he pushed too hard and returned it.
Mom looked pale, but she still forced a smile and called me "sensible." Watching them try so hard to keep up their act almost made me laugh.
For years, they had been pretending to be loving parents just to set Scott up for success. It was pathetic. All I ever wanted was my own shot at success, but they would do anything to make sure that wasn’t possible.
I thought I was prepared for the worst, but I wasn’t ready for what happened on the day of my graduation defense.
Scott went up third. The moment his PPT came up on the screen, my stomach dropped.
It was my work. Word for word, slide for slide—he had stolen everything.
I stood up, my anger bubbling over. Pointing at Scott’s paper, I snapped, "Scott plagiarized my thesis! I’m reporting this!"
Everyone in the room who had already gotten expensive gifts from him exchanged looks and the whispers started.
"Plagiarized from you? What proof do you even have?" one of them asked, smirking. "You couldn’t even get a scholarship. What could you possibly have written that’s worth copying?"
"Yeah, right. He’s rich. Why would he steal your work? Get over yourself."
"I think she’s just making it up to mess with him," another said. "People like her don’t deserve a diploma! Sir, you should kick her out!"
Before I could even respond, some of the students grabbed my crutches and tossed them out the door.
I hobbled over, the sound of laughter following me.
"Hey, Savannah, your problem isn’t your leg, it’s your brain!" someone laughed. "You walk like one of those characters with cerebral palsy!"
"She waddles like a duck!" another added. "How’s she even writing papers? She could barely make money selling herself!"
"And don’t forget last time," one of them chimed in. "I saw her when I tore her clothes off. She’s got a decent figure, maybe she can sell herself for something after all."
No one stepped in. The lecturer stood by, probably thinking this was all just some entertainment. He probably had orders from the university director to back Scott no matter what.
He finally spoke up, but his tone was cold. He pulled out a chair and positioned it right in front of me, like he wanted me to trip.
"Enough of this," he said. "You’ve caused trouble before, Savannah and the school has been patient. But accusing someone of plagiarism is serious. Do you have any proof?"
I just stared at him, my fists clenched so tight my nails were digging into my palms.
"No proof?" he said, his voice almost mocking. "Then I suggest you apologize to Scott. If you do, I can put in a good word with the school leaders and make sure you still graduate."
Scott sat at the podium, grinning. He casually threw a pen at my head.
"Get smart, cripple," he taunted.
I wasn’t going to back down. I didn’t care about the humiliation anymore. I made a scene and I made sure everyone in that room would remember it.
