Chapter 3
My dissertation defense was scheduled for Thursday at 10:00 a.m.
Room 412.
Lakeview University.
Department of Organizational Leadership and Ethics.
I had repeated those details so many times they became a prayer.
Six years of research.
Three rejected proposals.
Two committee changes.
One medical leave after stress sent me to the emergency room with chest pain.
Four hundred and twelve pages.
A title so long only my father could say it without pausing.
Institutional Silence and Gendered Credibility in Executive Decision-Making.
Hunter hated the title.
“It sounds like you’re accusing everyone before they speak.”
I said, “That’s not what it means.”
He said, “It’s exactly what it means.”
Barbara called the defense “your little presentation.”
The closer it came, the more accidents started happening.
My printed notes disappeared from the dining table.
Hunter said the cleaning service must have moved them.
A flash drive vanished from my purse.
Barbara said I needed better habits.
My committee chair emailed asking why I had not sent my final slides.
I had.
Someone had deleted the scheduled email from my outbox.
That was when I stopped assuming carelessness.
I changed passwords.
Backed everything up.
Sent copies to my father.
Printed two extra sets of notes and hid one inside my car.
Hunter noticed my caution and became offended.
“You’re acting like we’re enemies.”
I looked at him across the kitchen table.
“Are we?”
He smiled.
But not kindly.
“You’re stressed.”
That word again.
Stressed.
The word people use when they want to make your perception sound like a symptom.
The night before the defense, I came home from campus at 7:40 p.m.
My blouse was wrinkled.
My hair was pinned loosely.
My laptop bag weighed so much my shoulder ached.
Barbara was in the kitchen.
Hunter was at the counter.
My dissertation folder lay open on the table.
That stopped me.
I had left it zipped in my bag.
Barbara held one page between two fingers.
“So many words,” she said. “All this to prove women are victims?”
I walked toward her.
“Put that down.”
Hunter said, “Don’t speak to my mother that way.”
I reached for the folder.
Barbara reached for my hair.
At first, I thought she meant to grab me.
May you like
Then I saw the scissors.
Read the full story 👉 As the defense neared, Selena realized the missing notes, deleted emails, and damaged preparation were not accidents.
