Dad stood near the podium in his charcoal suit, laughing with three men in similar suits. He hadn’t seen us yet. Or maybe he had and simply chose not to look.
That thought made my stomach turn.
Lily’s grip tightened. “Mommy…”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I whispered, though my voice cracked on the last word. “We’re leaving.”
Diane’s smile widened — victorious, satisfied, cruel.
“So good of you to understand, Harper. Family is just so important, and tonight needs to be perfect for your father.”
The irony tasted like bile.
She had been in our lives for exactly eighteen months — married my dad six months after my mother lost her three-year battle with ovarian cancer. Six months after the funeral where Diane had worn a cream dress and stood too close to Dad at the graveside.
I wanted to scream something — anything — that would wipe that expression off her face.
But Lily was watching me.
