poured champagne beside a twelve-foot Christmas tree while his wife, Diane, studied me as though I’d dirtied her carpet.
Rachel rushed over.
“Mom, can we talk?”
She led me into the hallway.
She avoided my eyes.
“Grant doesn’t want you here.”
For a moment, I assumed she was joking.
“I’m your mother.”
“I know, but his family has important people here tonight.”
“And what am I?”
She murmured, “Please don’t make this harder.”
Then Grant appeared.
Unlike Rachel, he spoke loudly.
“People like you don’t belong at events like this.”
The room fell silent.
Charles observed from across the room without intervening.
Something inside me broke.
Not over Grant’s insult.
But because Rachel allowed it.
I slowly fastened my coat.
Grant smirked, convinced he’d won.
Then Charles’ phone buzzed on the table.
I faced Grant.
“Tell your father to check his email.”
Grant laughed.
“What?”
“His company email.”
Charles checked
