The speech.
1032 Words
The applause swells around me, sharp and bright, echoing against the tall walls of the auditorium. I rise from my chair with deliberate calm, smoothing my hands down the front of my dress as if I had not known this moment was coming all along. I can feel eyes on me from every direction, some approving, some surprised, some sceptical, but none more piercing than Mike’s. His face is tight, his jaw clenched, his eyes darting between Emma and me as though trying to rearrange the puzzle pieces in his head. Emma leans close to him, whispering urgently, her hand curling over his arm. Even without hearing the words, I know she’s feeding him another story, another careful lie. Her posture is theatrical, with a tilted head and widened eyes, the practised poise of a woman who knows how to manipulate attention. I step forward. The stage feels higher than it is, the podium taller, the weight of responsibility settling across my shoulders with surprising steadiness. I don’t need to search for words.
“Thank you. It is an honour to accept this position, and it is with humility and purpose that I step into this role,” I start. A fresh ripple of murmurs cuts through the room. I let it pass. Authority is not in silencing noise, but in rising above it. I glance briefly toward the audience. Mike is still frozen, disbelief etched in every line of his face. His hand jerks in a small motion, as if he nearly rose from his chair before Emma’s fingers pressed him back down. Her lips are moving quickly, her expression a mask of concern and devotion. It would almost be convincing if I didn’t know better, and I do. Emma is pregnant. She is using that truth like a shield, a card played at just the right moment to keep Mike from collapsing under the humiliation he feels now. But the child is not his. I know it with absolute certainty. He cannot father children. It was a silent wound in our marriage, one we never spoke of outside the walls of our home. He and his parents always blamed me for not being able to have children. The irony nearly makes me laugh. Emma’s biggest weapon is one that should shatter her entire charade. Yet I keep the knowledge buried. I will not expose her. Not because she deserves protection, but because I will never risk Mike believing, even for a second, that I might take him back. I return my attention to my speech, every word measured, steady.
“This department has always stood on the strength of collaboration. I have caught up on everything at West View over the last few days. We are at the edge of remarkable progress, and I hope to guide us with clarity, innovation, and respect. This is not a victory of one, but a shared moment of growth for us all,” I continue. Applause rises again, polite but growing. Some faces brighten with approval; others remain cool and cautious. Leadership always divides a room. I accept it. Still, my eyes drift back to where Mike sits, trapped in the performance Emma is staging beside him. He is frowning deeply, whispering heatedly now. Emma leans into him, her hand sliding protectively to her stomach in a gesture meant for everyone to see. Ah. There it is. She has played her hand publicly. A small, sharp pang twists inside me, but it is not jealousy, not grief, but something like pity. He thinks the baby is his. He believes she orchestrated his rise, only to watch me claim the position instead. The ground beneath him is crumbling, and he clings to the one illusion she offers. I inhale slowly, steadying myself. None of that belongs to me anymore.
“This department deserves transparency and dedication. I will give it both,” I say firmly, letting my gaze sweep the audience. The applause comes stronger now, solid, certain. My father watches from the front row, pride in his eyes, and beside him sits Professor Stevens. Jonathan’s gaze is steady, unwavering. There is something in it, respect, yes, but also quiet understanding. He sees more than most, though he would never say it aloud. I let the weight of the moment settle. My speech nears its close, and I will not falter.
“Together, we will build a future worthy of the legacy this department has carried for generations. Thank you,” I end my speech. The words echo, then dissolve into a tide of applause. I step back from the podium, my heart calm, my expression composed. The storm is not in me. It is out there, at that table where Mike sits seething and Emma spins her web tighter around him. Their whispers are urgent, her touch dramatic, his anger poorly contained. I turn away from them, lifting my chin, and smile as colleagues rise to shake my hand, to congratulate me, to pledge their support or hide their doubt. I play my role with grace, accepting every word, every nod.
But in the corner of my vision, I still see Mike. I know the way he looks at me, not with love, not even with hatred, but with the raw disbelief of a man who realises the ground has shifted under his feet. The applause fades, the evening moves forward, but inside I carry the truth like a blade sheathed against my heart. Emma’s secret is safe with me, for now. Not because I want to protect her. But because my silence keeps me free from Mike and his family. All that matters to them is prestige and money. I think as I leave the stage, my revenge has just begun. They will work under me, and they are going to regret it every day of their lives!
"What are you hiding, Christine? It almost seems like you are hiding a secret from all of us," Jonathan jokes. However, his eyes are sharp as he looks at me as if he is trying to place me.
"Professor Steven, every one of us carries secrets in our hearts, don't we?" I ask smiling.
- Writer
