em in my sensible sedan, Leo strapped into his car seat in the back, looking pale but excited. He clutched a crayon drawing of a stick-fi

A string quartet played softly near a massive white tent. Waiters in crisp uniforms moved

plastered on his face. He was wearing an expensive suit

n and kissed my cheek, the gesture as cold as a snake' s skin. Then he turned to Leo, hi

round his father' s neck. Mark turned, presenting us to the nearest group

n, I saw her. Isabella. She was even more striking in person, dressed in

u' ve heard so much about my family. This is my wife, Chloe." His emphasis on the

scanning me from head to toe. It wasn'

me, his voice oozing with false charm.

ft. But I looked down at Leo, who was squirming in Mark' s arms, eager to get down. His face was lit with

asure to meet

ith desserts. "Is Grandpa here yet?" he called ba

ts. I watched him, a fierce, protective ache in my chest. I had to see th

e married. Mark' s mother had called me the day before. "Chloe, dear," she' d said in her clipped, condescending tone, "p

ee. I wasn' t one of them. The memory, the sting of that old humiliation,

ged ourselves, Mark deliberately positioned himself next to Isabella, pulling her closer to the center. H

ions. He raised his glass to Isabella. "And to Isabella, whose faith and vision are making it all po

blic, so pointed, it

ng the tent fabric flap violently. I noticed a tall, ornate stone lantern perched on a marble pedestal near the edge of the patio where

ward Leo, intending

d up. Rain began to pour down in sheets. The party guest

r sound. A horrible, gr

he stone lantern

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