Chapter 4: Privilege Has a Name

Until last month, when Carter finally came home on time for once.

He walked through the door, grinning like a kid with a secret. I barely recognized the excitement in his eyes—it had been so long since I’d seen it.

He sat at the dinner table, excitedly telling me about the new PhD student he’d recruited this year:

“Sophia Lane’s grandfather is a Nobel laureate—he’s got big federal grants.”

He rattled off her pedigree like he was reading a scouting report.

“Her dad’s the dean of the business school at State U, and her mom’s an executive at a Fortune 500.”

He casually picked up a bite of food, eyes shining with a light I hadn’t seen in years.

It wasn’t the pure ambition of his youth. It was something deeper—genuine envy.

The way he talked about her, I could feel the longing in his words. He wasn’t just impressed; he was hungry for what she represented.

“You know, she published two major papers as an undergrad, all with her grandfather’s lab as her affiliation.”

“She doesn’t have to stay up all night running data, or beg for collaborations, or get tormented by reviewers.”

He shook his head, half self-mockery, half bitterness. I almost didn't recognize him.

“It took me over a decade to climb to associate professor. For her, all it takes is a last name.”

“I can already see her future—snapped up by a top university after graduation, landing early‑career grants, getting triple our funding, and sliding right into a management track…”

I looked at him and remembered all those years ago, when Carter would work in the lab until three in the morning, sometimes smashing his keyboard in frustration over data glitches.

I asked him, “Then why did she choose you as her advisor?”

Carter paused, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, his tone lightening.

“She said she’d read my papers.”

“The youngest associate professor in State U’s Electrical and Computer Engineering department, a rising star in AI.”

“She said she likes my research direction.”

That’s when I realized, Carter’s pride was never just about academic ideals. It was the lifelong obsession of a small-town striver:

“What I had to fight tooth and nail for, others are born with.”

And now, with Sophia Lane’s arrival, for the first time he felt—

“So I can be chosen by ‘privilege’ too.”

That night, he didn’t go back to the lab. Instead, he sat at his desk, flipping through Sophia’s résumé over and over.

I stood at the doorway, watching his fingers stroke the edge of the paper, as if he were touching some shortcut within reach.

He suddenly spoke, voice barely above a whisper:

“Harper, if I’d had those resources back then…”

He didn’t finish. But I knew what he wanted to say.

If he’d had those resources, he wouldn’t have had to work himself sick in the lab, wouldn’t have had to grovel for an associate professorship, wouldn’t even have needed to marry a full-time writer.

The unspoken words hung between us, heavy and sharp. I felt the ground shift, just a little, under my feet.

I understand human weakness. But the man before me felt like a stranger. He could shield me from falling beams, but he couldn’t stop his heart from racing when he looked into a young woman’s eyes.

I wanted to scream. To shake him. But all I could do was watch the distance grow between us—inch by inch, word by word.