me that text the night before.
Genevieve stood beside him.
Perfectly composed.
And Richard stood behind them.
I looked at my son.
“Why are you here?”
Benjamin swallowed.
“Mom, we need to talk.”
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“No?”
“You had your opportunity to talk last night.”
“Things got out of control.”
“You told me I wasn’t invited.”
“I know.”
“You said Genevieve didn’t want me there.”
Genevieve immediately interrupted.
“I never said—”
I raised one hand.
She stopped.
That was new.
For fifteen years, I had allowed people to interrupt
