Within seconds, the whole backyard echoed with a cruel, rhythmic chant.

“Take it off!

Take it off!

Take it off!”

To them, it was entertainment.

They thought I was just deeply insecure.

No one knew I hadn’t worn short sleeves in twelve years.

Inside the house, through the glass doors, I saw my father’s hand grip the handle.

He was ready to storm out and stop everything.

I met his eyes and gave the smallest shake of my head.

No.

Not this time.

The truth had been hidden long enough.

Every step toward Chloe felt impossibly heavy.

Phones were raised, recording, expecting my ultimate humiliation.