“We can discuss your costume later,” she continued.
“Go take it off before you embarrass yourself further.”
The general’s jaw tightened.
Elena’s brother shifted away from the table.
Her father whispered, “Stop talking.”
But her mother had spent too many years believing that silence belonged to Elena.
She stepped closer and reached toward one of the stars.
Elena moved back before her fingers could touch it.
“Do not put your hand on my insignia.”
The sentence was not loud.
It did not need to be.
Her mother froze.
The general stepped to Elena’s side, not in front of her, but close enough to make the boundary unmistakable.
“Ma’am,” he said, “I strongly recommend you listen.”
The mother’s hand fell.
Around them, the guests remained silent.
Their silence had changed too.
Earlier, it had protected the people humiliating Elena.
Now it exposed them.
Her father glanced at the crowd.
“Elena, whatever point you are trying to make—”
“I am not trying to make a point.”
She met his eyes.
“You ordered me to change.”
A pause.
“So I did.”
The general looked down, hiding the beginning of a smile.
No one else dared to move.
Elena’s father swallowed.
“You never told us.”
There it was.
Not an apology.
An accusation.
Elena had expected it.
“I told you I had been promoted.”
Her father frowned.
“You said there had been a ceremony.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t say this.”
“I called three times before the ceremony.”
Her mother folded her arms.
“We were busy.”
“You sent flowers,” Elena said.
Her mother seized on the detail.
“Exactly.
We acknowledged it.”
“The card said, ‘Congratulations on the new position.’”
Her brother stared at the two stars again.
“I thought you worked in an office.”
Elena turned toward him.
“You thought that because whenever I spoke about my work, you made a joke before I finished the sentence.”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Her father rubbed his forehead.
“This is ridiculous.
You cannot expect us to understand military ranks.”
“No,” Elena said.
