“What did you do?”
Her mouth opened and closed.
She looked at me with warning in her eyes, still believing she could control the conversation, my son, and me.
“It was a seating issue,” she said quickly. “Your mother is overreacting.”
Daniel frowned.
“A seating issue?”
I reached into my purse, removed the place card, and handed it to him.
He stared at his mother’s name written across it.
Then he looked toward the side patio, where the folding chair remained beneath the security light beside the garbage bins.
His expression slowly changed.
Disbelief came first.
Then shame.
Then anger.
“Vanessa,” he said quietly. “Tell me that wasn’t Mom’s seat.”
She crossed her arms.
“Daniel, don’t do this here.”
“Tell me.”
Guests had begun gathering behind the glass doors.
His best man stood near the entrance.
My sister Caroline covered her mouth with one hand.
Vanessa’s voice tightened.
