MY FATHER ORDERED ME TO FIX IT
Richard came toward us.
“What is happening?”
Celeste answered first.
“Ethan is destroying Mom’s birthday.”
Dad gave me the same look he had used since I was ten.
Disappointment.
Controlled anger.
“Fix this.”
There it was.
Not:
What happened?
Not:
Why are my grandchildren crying?
Just:
Fix this.
I handed him the corrected invoice.
“I did.”
“What is this?”
“What has been used tonight.”
I pointed toward the total.
“Paid.”
Eleanor stared.
“And everything else?”
“Canceled.”
“You are punishing me.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
For the first time in my life, I saw her clearly.
Not as my mother.
As a person.
A beautiful woman who had spent decades turning affection into leverage.
“I’m simply no longer rewarding you.”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came.
Then Noah slid out of his chair.
