I couldn’t see Melissa’s face, but I could imagine it. The mascara running. The public shame. The livestream she was likely running capturing her own downfall.
Back in the ballroom, my mother saw me. Her mouth opened, her eyes bulging with a mix of fury and terror.
I gave a small, polite wave. Then I turned and walked out the door.
I waited for them on the sidewalk.
It took ten minutes. They emerged not like royalty, but like refugees. My dad’s tie was undone. My mom was clutching her purse to her chest as if it were a shield. They looked smaller. Shrunken.
When they saw me leaning against my car, my dad stopped. The rage was there, trying to ignite, but it was dampened by fear.
“You,” he croaked. “You did this.”
“I did,” I said calmly.
“You ruined us!” my mother hissed, stepping forward, her hand raising instinctively to strike.
