MY BOSS’s DAUGHTER
Then, without another word, she turned and left the room, leaving Hilary alone with her mounting anger and the sterile silence.
Hilary turned her face to the wall, tears stinging her eyes. The words she had spoken hung in the air, unspoken, unacknowledged. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to disappear. All she wanted was to be seen, to be heard, to be loved unconditionally. Instead, she was surrounded by silence, by judgment, by a constant reminder of her own inadequacy.
"Hilary? Hilary, can you hear me?" A voice, a familiar voice, cut through the silence. Her father, Hilary Clinton, a man whose presence was as fleeting as a summer breeze, stood in the doorway. His face was pale, his eyes
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