A small tribunal dressed in formalwear.
Gerald leaned close enough for his cologne to crowd the air.
“You see all these people?” he said.
“Every one of them knows you’re the daughter who abandoned her family.”
I looked at him.
He smiled.
“You’re still searching for something you’ll never get.”
“What’s that?”
“My approval.”
There it was.
The old wound, named out loud.
He expected tears.
A raised voice.
Proof that I was still the unstable daughter he had written out of the family story.
I gave him silence.
That unsettled him more than any argument could have.
So he stood taller, let his voice carry to the nearby tables, and said the line he thought would finish me.
“If it wasn’t for pity, no one would have invited you.”
Silverware stopped.
A waiter froze with a bread basket held in both hands.
Margaret touched his arm, not to stop him, but to keep the performance polished.
