The Bloodstained Diploma

Chapter One: The Resounding Slap

The sound of my father’s slap on my face even drowned out the warm applause that echoed in the courtyard just a few seconds ago. Crisp and loud, it pierced the air. For an eerie moment, even the chirping of birds above the graduation ceremony tent seemed to have completely stopped.

My academic cap flew off my head and spun around on the masonry walk. The hair was fanned and scattered randomly. But I still clutched the diploma in my hand tightly to my chest, because my fingers had already locked onto it instinctively when I saw him charging towards me menacingly.

My cheeks burned. The crowd burst into exclamations. Those who were originally holding up their mobile phones to record proud families and smiling graduates slowly put them down in shock. My father stood in front of me, red-faced and shaking with rage, his expensive navy suit stretched tight around his shoulders.

“You didn’t get this degree on your own merits!” he roared loudly.

I looked at him and didn’t even reach out to cover my face. This is important. I don’t know why, but at that moment, I knew very well: If I raised my hand to cover my face, he would win. He will be able to get the picture he wants to see most - a wounded, humble, humiliated me; a me who is his daughter first and a graduate second.

So I stayed still. My name is Emily Brooks. I just walked off the commencement stage at Riverton University with summa cum laude. I have double majors in accounting and public policy, and I have a full scholarship medal hanging under my bachelor’s degree.

Four years of countless sleepless nights, shifts serving dishes in a small restaurant, part-time jobs tutoring others, unpaid internships, exhaustion sleeping on the library floor, panic attacks, and countless days eating instant noodles - all of this was condensed into the diploma I held tightly to my chest.

And my father tried to erase all of this with a slap in the face. My mother walked up to him. Elaine Brooks, in an elegant cream dress and pearl necklace, looked like the perfect mother in every perfect graduation photo—except her eyes were filled with something colder than disappointment.

Her finger almost touched the tip of my nose.

“Even if you get a diploma, you’re still a loser at heart.”

There was another gasp of air coming from the courtyard. Behind them, my brother Ethan froze in place, mouth slightly open. He looked more scared than angry. That tells me everything. He had known that his parents would say some nasty things today.

But he obviously didn’t expect such a large audience. My best friend, Paige, pushed through the surrounding graduates and rushed over.

“Emily,” she whispered in horror, “are you okay?”

I nodded slightly towards her. No, I’m not good at all. But I’m ready. These are two different things. A campus security guard started walking towards us. University President Dr. Lydia Maren has turned around, alertness written on her face. The professors in the front row half stood up.

I raised a hand.

“Please don’t come over,” I said in a low voice but very firmly, “let them finish their words.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t know yet that he had stepped into a trap. For four years, Martin and Elaine Brooks spread the rumor to everyone that I was being kicked out of college for being idle. They said I squandered my scholarship. They said I was avoiding responsibility. They said I broke their hearts after they sacrificed everything for me.

All lies. I’m always on campus. Work. Learn. Try your best to survive. And, quietly collect evidence. My father moved closer.

“Do you think that walking around on stage can change the fact of who you are?”

“No,” I said.

This answer stunned him. Because he was expecting to see my tears. Expect me to beg. Expect to see the good daughter who kept apologizing to calm his anger. I looked at him and then at my mother.

Then, I looked beyond them to the podium in the distance. I clasped my fingers tightly on the diploma until my joints turned white. My mother caught my gaze. Her expression changed first.

“Emily,” she said through her teeth, “How dare you.”

I walked right past them. The crowd automatically made way for me. Every step towards the podium feels difficult, but unstoppable. My cheek still throbbed. Throat is tight. My legs were shaking slightly under the bachelor’s uniform, but I didn’t stop.

My father took a sharp step toward me.

“Emily, you dare to try it!”

Dr. Mullen hesitated at the microphone. Then, she silently stepped aside. Because she knows the inside story. Not all though. But enough is enough. I reached into my loose academic gown and pulled out the thick sealed envelope that I had been carrying with me since sunrise this morning.

The whole place was deathly silent. My mother’s face drained of color. Ethan looked like he was about to throw up. I slammed the envelope onto the podium and leaned toward the microphone.

“Everyone here deserves to know the truth.”

My father stood frozen in the audience. I tore the seal off the envelope. It contained copies of bank statements, financial aid documents, trust account statements, notarized letters and transfer receipts. The irrefutable evidence of four whole years of hard work.

I pulled out the first page and held it high. When I spoke, there was no tremor in my voice:

“Ask them where my college money went.”