But she did give me another hug before I had to run the gauntlet of waiting reporters and cameras. Making my way down the line, I gave stock answers about how unworried I was about the Olympics, and oh yes, it was great having Theo Sullivan pushing me in training, couldn’t be better.

In the end, he didn’t have a great free skate either, though he beat me by 9.63 points. I could admit that I’d let the performance go and probably hadn’t deserved the program component scores I received, but Theodore’s PCS were still unfairly high.

All I could do was make it through the medal ceremony and required press conference. I’d been told often that I had “resting bitch face,” but I’d given up trying to smile all the time years before. My skating could speak for itself, though it hadn’t said anything complimentary today.

Theo waited atop the podium with a huge grin when I skated out to thunderous applause. I bowed to the audience, who really were too kind and loyal to me even though I was a disgrace.

As much as I’d have loved to ignore Theo, I stopped in front of him and held out my hand. He shook it, then bent down with arms open because he was terrible.

I had no choice but to hug him back or appear churlish. Appearances were vital in skating. I had to be seen as a gracious loser even when I seethed with frustration and anger—most of it directed at myself. I stiffly embraced Theodore.

“Tough break with the Lutz,” he said, his breath tickling my cheek as we parted.

If I’d spoken, I’d either have snapped in fury or—even worse—burst into tears. So I nodded and skated around the back of the podium to climb up to the silver position I’d managed to hang on to by my fingernails. Wang Zhan had won bronze, and he was thrilled by it, grinning madly and hugging us, practically bouncing onto the podium.

Suddenly, it struck me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt such joy at a medal, even a gold. When I’d captured my last world title, the overriding sensation had been relief. Satisfaction, yes, but joy? I watched Wang Zhan with a pang of envy, wondering if Theodore was joyful. He was always grinning in that infuriating way with his perfect, beautiful smile, so he must have been.

“You can do better.”

“Mom!” My mother huffed at Obaachan and drew me into a hug, and I allowed a moment to breathe in her favorite tropical perfume that smelled subtly of coconut and made me think of summer. “We know you did your best and we’re always proud of you.”

I stepped back and nodded, though I preferred Obaachan’s honesty. We understood each other. I hadn’t done my best—not remotely—and what did I have to be proud of?

Perhaps that I hadn’t completely imploded and could still make the final, but this silver medal was going in the garbage. Either that or I’d wear it to practices to remind me of what not to do.