My mom handed the microphone back to her. “Exactly.”
An awkward silence descended—the kind where guests aren’t sure whether to stare at the wedding cake, the floor, or pull out their phones to record the drama. My dad stood up from our table. He didn’t say a word. He just moved behind my mom, standing like a stone wall.
Mark gritted his teeth. “Sophie, we are going to talk about this outside.”
“No.”
I surprised myself. And him.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you after your mother just announced my home will be her retirement suite like it’s a raffle prize at a church fair.”
Diane let out a shrill, fake laugh. “Oh, please. It was a family joke. Everyone misunderstood.”
One of Mark’s aunts, wearing a string of pearls and holding a stiff drink, muttered, “Well, I understood it perfectly.”
Someone chuckled—a small sound, but it was enough to make Diane whirl around in fury.
Mark grabbed my arm. “You’re making a scene.”
There, I recognized his eyes. The same ones as his mother’s. Cold. Calculating. The eyes of a man who wasn’t losing a wife, but an investment.
“No,” I said. “The scene was made by you, when you asked me to start our life together in my condo while your family planned to move in without asking.”
“My mother is alone.”
