My father answered the inquiry, his tone stripped down to the marrow. “That was the exact terminology she utilized.”
Diane’s chin jutted forward, clinging to her aristocratic pride. “I was distressed.”
“You were transparent,” Robert corrected.
Lily tugged urgently on my sweater sleeve. I leaned down, the comforting scent of her strawberry detangler grounding me amidst the hostility.
“Can I please have some water?” she whispered.
That microscopic request nearly destroyed me. It wasn’t the maliciousness, the exposure, or the profound rejection that broke my heart. It was the fact that my child was parched, and the supposed adults in the room were so consumed with turning affection into a bloodsport that they had entirely neglected her humanity.
Before I could reach the pitcher, my father intercepted it. He poured the ice water with deliberate, agonizing care, placing the glass gently before Lily. He rested his massive hand on the tablecloth near her plate.
“You are not too much,” he said to her, his voice thick with emotion.
The room experienced a total systems failure.
Lily blinked up at him, her large eyes reflecting the chandelier. “I know,” she replied. Six-year-olds possess an innate, armor-plated certainty until broken adults methodically dismantle it. She took a long, unapologetic sip.
Robert straightened his spine. “Now. Melissa, if you still require a thirty-thousand-dollar bailout after classifying your sister as an embarrassment and my granddaughter as a burden, I strongly suggest you find a different bank.”
Jason emitted a low, strangled groan from the doorway—a sound constructed entirely of dread and absolute defeat.
Melissa’s features sharpened into aggressive panic. “You cannot possibly be serious.”
“I have never been more serious.”
