My mother snapped, “Stop rewarding her drama.”
They thought I would apologize and force Lily into that chair.
They had no idea the stuffed fox in her arms was holding a voice none of us were supposed to hear.
It happened at Thanksgiving dinner in my mother’s immaculate dining room.
White candles burned between gold-rimmed plates. Football murmured from the den. My brother Thomas and his wife Elaine were already seated, watching my daughter as if she were ruining the evening.
Victor Hale sat at the head of the table in the chair that once belonged to my father.
He was my mother’s wealthy new husband, not Lily’s grandfather, no matter how often Patricia insisted otherwise. He wore a gold watch, spoke to waiters like servants, and smiled without warmth whenever someone challenged him.
The moment Lily and I entered the house, she gripped my hand.
Victor opened his arms. “There’s our little princess. Don’t I get a hug?”
Lily hid behind my leg, crushing her worn orange fox against her chest.
For one second, Victor’s smile hardened.
Then he laughed. “Still teaching her to be rude, Michael?”
My brother looked away. Elaine pretended to adjust her napkin. My mother gave me the familiar warning stare that meant keeping Victor comfortable mattered more than anything I might say.
