**Chapter 28: Shadows of Pride**
The restaurant air was thick with the hum of soft piano music and murmured conversations, but at Max's table, the tension was almost suffocating. His parents sat across from him, their postures impeccably straight, their gazes sharp and appraising. They had barely touched the wine, let alone exchanged pleasantries since sitting down.
After a few minutes of silence, his mother, Margaret, delicately adjusted her pearl necklace and began.
"Did you know," she said, turning to Max's father, Richard, with a smile so wide it almost glowed, "Eleanor was promoted to senior partner at the firm? At her age, no less! It's simply unheard of. The board practically begged her to take the position."
Richard's face softened with unmistakable pride, his lips curving into a rare smile. "Of course. That's our Eleanor. Sharp as a tack, just like her mother."
Max's chest tightened, his hands gripping the edges of his chair. Eleanor, his perfect older sister, always seemed to shine brightest in their parents' eyes.
"She's incredible," Margaret continued, her voice swelling with pride. "International cases, private jets, and she even bought her own property in France. Can you believe it? At thirty-one."
"Unbelievable," Richard agreed, his tone warm and affectionate.
Max could only sit there, forcing a smile that felt like a mask. Their faces were alight with admiration, the kind of expression they never seemed to wear when they looked at him.
"And James," Margaret added, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Oh, James! The youngest VP in his company's history. He's practically running the tech division singlehandedly. And the salary, Richard! Do you remember the figure?"
Richard leaned back, his hand brushing his tailored suit lapel. "Oh, it was something astronomical. Stock options, bonuses—the works. James has a future most people can only dream about."
"Of course he does," Margaret said with a fond smile. "He's always been so driven, so focused. Just like his father."
Their conversation felt like daggers slicing into Max's heart. They spoke as though their children's successes were their own, as if they had raised flawless diamonds. For a fleeting moment, Max wondered what it would feel like to be the source of that pride, to see those same glowing eyes directed at him.
Instead, when they finally turned to him, their expressions hardened.
"And you, Maxwell?" Margaret asked, her voice dropping a notch, laced with cool disinterest. "What have you been doing with your life since we last spoke?"
Max hesitated, his throat tightening. He knew this moment would come, but it still felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into an abyss.
"I... I've been working at a bookstore," he began, keeping his tone as steady as he could. "I'm one of the senior employees now. Actually, I was named Employee of the Month recently."
The words hung in the air like a weak punchline to a joke no one found funny.
Margaret blinked, her smile fading as her lips pressed into a thin line. Richard sighed audibly, rubbing his temple as though Max's words had physically pained him.
"A bookstore," Margaret repeated slowly, as if tasting the word and finding it bitter.
"Employee of the Month," Richard echoed with a scoff. "At a bookstore."
Max's face burned, but he pressed on. "It's honest work. I enjoy it, and I'm good at what I do."
His parents exchanged a glance, their disappointment palpable.
"Good at what you do," Margaret said, her voice tinged with condescension. "Maxwell, you're almost thirty. Is this really what you want to settle for? A bookstore?"
"It's not about settling," Max argued, his voice wavering slightly. "I'm happy there. I've—"
"Happy?" Margaret interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "How can you be happy with mediocrity? Look at your brother and sister. They've built lives worth talking about, worth celebrating. And you... you work at a bookstore?"
Richard shook his head, his tone cold and dismissive. "You're wasting your potential, Maxwell. We gave you everything you needed to succeed, and this is what you've done with it?"
Max felt his chest tighten, his breathing shallow. He wanted to tell them about Kota, about how becoming a father had given his life new meaning. But he couldn't bring himself to say it, not with their piercing gazes pinning him down like a butterfly on a board.
Margaret leaned forward, her voice low and cutting. "Do you even realize how embarrassing this is for us? People ask about you, Maxwell. What do you expect us to say? That our son is wasting his life in obscurity?"
Her words struck like a whip, each one leaving an invisible scar. Max clenched his fists under the table, struggling to keep his composure.
"I'm doing my best," he said quietly, though even to his own ears, it sounded hollow.
"Your best isn't enough," Margaret snapped, her tone razor-sharp. "Not for this family."
The waiter approached with their food, but Margaret waved him off impatiently. "We won't be needing that," she said coldly.
Richard stood abruptly, straightening his suit. "We should go. This has been a waste of time."
Max rose to his feet, his heart pounding. "Wait, please—"
Before he could finish, Margaret's hand shot out, and she slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the quiet restaurant, drawing a few startled glances from nearby tables.
Max's cheek burned, but the sting of the slap was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
"You've disgraced this family enough," Margaret said, her voice trembling with fury. "Don't bother contacting us again until you have something worth saying."
With that, they turned and left, their heels clicking against the polished floor as they walked away without a second glance.
Max stood there, his vision blurring as tears threatened to spill. He sank back into his chair, the half-empty restaurant spinning around him.
The waiter returned hesitantly, placing a hand on Max's shoulder. "Sir, is everything alright?"
Max forced a smile, his voice breaking. "Yeah... fine. Just fine."
But as he sat there, staring at the untouched food on the table, the weight of his paren
ts' words pressed down on him, threatening to crush what little hope he had left.