I sat nervously in the counselor's office, my hands trembling as I clenched them tightly on my lap.
The air felt thick with tension as she spoke into her phone, her tone brisk and authoritative.
My heart pounded loudly in my chest, each thump echoing my growing anxiety. I could hardly sit still, every nerve in my body was alive with a mix of fear, desperation, and disbelief.
How could I be facing charges for something I didn't do? It felt surreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
I had never even entertained the thought of cheating; yet here I was, accused of malpractice—framed—by someone who seemed determined to ruin my life.
Mr. Wyatt loomed large in my mind, his disdain for me palpable as if he thrived on my misfortune. I doubted he would ever believe my side of the story. How could a simple explanation from me hold any weight against his animosity?
