Sarah didn’t reply. She turned her phone off. Not silent. Off.
She walked out of her office, hailed a cab, and went to the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. She booked a spa suite for the weekend—a “no electronics” retreat.
As she lay on the massage table an hour later, facing down, smelling eucalyptus and lavender, she imagined the scene at her parents’ house. They would be frantic with joy, trying on clothes, drinking her wine, bragging to their friends.
They were flying high, soaring on wings made of wax. And Sarah had just turned up the sun.
Part 3: The Empty Feast
Saturday, 5:30 PM.
The Whitaker estate—a sprawling colonial house that Sarah technically owned but allowed her parents to live in “to keep up appearances”—was buzzing.
Linda Whitaker was in the master bedroom, struggling with the zipper of her sequined gown. “Robert! Robert, stop drinking the scotch and come help me!”
Robert Whitaker wandered in, adjusting his bow tie. “Relax, Linda. It’s going to be a triumph. I heard the Senator is bringing his new wife.”
“Where are the caterers?” Linda asked, frowning at the window. “They should have been here at two to set up. I haven’t heard a single plate clatter.”
“Sarah probably told them to set up quietly so they wouldn’t disturb our nap,” Robert dismissed. “You know how efficient she is. She’s probably got them parking in the rear service entrance.”
“True,” Linda smiled, admiring herself in the mirror. “That girl. She’s so… useful. A bit plain, but useful.”
Downstairs, Jessica was taking selfies in the foyer. “Guys! The lighting is terrible in here! Where is the professional lighting crew Sarah promised?”
The doorbell rang.
“Ah! The first guests!” Robert clapped his hands. “Showtime, everyone!”
Robert threw open the heavy oak double doors. Standing there were the Millers—the neighbors.
“Robert! Linda!” Mr. Miller beamed. “Ready for the bash of the year!”
“Come in, come in!” Robert ushered them into the grand hallway.
But as the Millers stepped inside, the smile faded from Mrs. Miller’s face. She looked around the cavernous living room.
“Oh,” she said. “Are we… early?”
The room was exactly as it always was. There were no round tables with white linens. There were no floral centerpieces towering like skyscrapers. There was no bar set up in the corner with crystal glasses. There was no string quartet playing Vivaldi.
