Rachel nodded.
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a USB drive.
“Backup of everything,” she said. “Video files, email screenshots, Marcus’s letter. Just in case.”
I took it.
“Thank you.”
“One more thing,” she said. “Do not apologize when you’re up there. Not once. They did this. You’re just showing people what they did.”
I hugged her.
The next evening, Donna Seward’s carefully constructed world met reality.
Hillcrest Country Club looked exactly the way my mother had dreamed it would.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across white linen tablecloths. A string quartet played near the bar. Gold balloons spelled out 60 above a three-tier cake decorated with sugar flowers. The Hillcrest logo appeared on napkins, welcome signs, and little chocolate squares at each place setting.
Eighty-five guests moved through the room in cocktail attire.
Women in tasteful dresses and pearls.
Men in sport coats and polished loafers.
Country club members.
Charity committee colleagues.
Old family friends.
People whose opinions shaped my mother’s entire identity.
I arrived in a navy sheath dress I had bought specifically for that moment. Professional. Composed. Unremarkable.
The USB drive was in my clutch.
Earlier that afternoon, I had spoken to the club’s AV technician under the pretense of helping with a birthday slideshow. The projector was ready. The screen was positioned perfectly.
Kyle spotted me first.
He was standing near the bar with Brittany, both of them laughing at something on his phone. He looked comfortable and confident, like a man who believed he had gotten away with something.
“Myra,” he said, waving me over. “Hey, glad you could make it. Mom’s been looking for you.”
I smiled.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Brittany leaned in, lowering her voice.
“So, your mom probably wants to tell you about our situation. Just act surprised, okay? She wants it to be a big reveal.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
Across the room, my mother stood in a champagne-colored dress, her hair freshly styled, her smile radiant as she greeted guests. My father stood slightly behind her, quiet and watchful.
Then she saw me.
“Myra, baby, come here.”
She rushed over and pulled me into a hug that smelled like Chanel No. 5 and self-satisfaction.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered. “I have the most wonderful news to share. Tonight is going to be perfect.”
