I stared at Josh, my body trembling with a rage so potent it made my vision blur at the edges. That photo—the only one where my mother had genuinely smiled at me—was now creased beneath his expensive leather shoe.
"Get your foot off my photograph." My voice came out unnaturally calm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.
Josh's smirk wavered, but he didn't move. "Or what, Elara? Going to add assault to your list of crimes?"
Without warning, I lunged forward and shoved him with all my strength. He stumbled backward, crashing into two other reporters. The corridor erupted with gasps and camera flashes.
I snatched up the photograph, now bent and smudged with a footprint. My mother's face was barely recognizable beneath the damage.
The frame's glass had shattered completely, leaving jagged shards scattered across the floor. I picked up the largest piece, my fingers curling around it until the edge bit into my palm.
