“Kyle, let’s just go.”
“No. This isn’t fair. Mom said—”
“Mom said you’d get away with it,” I said. “She was wrong.”
Then I took a step closer.
“And if you want to talk about fair, maybe start with the student loans I paid by myself while Mom covered your minimum payments. Or the Honda Civic I bought with babysitting money while you got a Mustang. Or every single time you got rescued from a mess you made while I was told to be understanding.”
Kyle’s bravado cracked.
For one second, I saw shame on his face.
Then he looked away.
Brittany pulled harder.
“We’re leaving,” she said.
They walked out of the ballroom without looking back.
The door swung shut behind them with a hollow thud.
I turned to what remained of the party. Maybe thirty people were still frozen in their seats, witnessing the collapse of my mother’s carefully polished story.
