Chess Move, No Remorse

Summary

I sat in a forgotten corner of the room, cradling a bowl of soup, a silent observer to the symphony of laughter that filled the air. They were all chattering away in fluent French, toasting to Isabelle and Jasper’s future wedding. No one even glanced at me, her actual boyfriend, hidden in the shadows.

I’d secretly poured years into mastering four languages, all for this—to finally fit in. But it was a fool's errand. The PhDs and art scholars, all back from their stints abroad, looked at me with the barely-veiled condescension they reserved for someone with a community college education.