With my free hand, I reached into the structured leather tote bag I had placed near my chair.
My fingers brushed past my wallet and my keys, closing around a thick, heavy cream envelope.
I stood up to my full height. I looked Margaret dead in the eyes. The triumphant glee on her face faltered for a microsecond, replaced by a flicker of confusion at my eerie, absolute silence.
I stepped forward and placed the heavy cream envelope directly onto the largest remaining shard of shattered porcelain on the table, right in front of her perfectly manicured hands.
“My lawyer is already involved, Margaret,” I said. My voice was completely devoid of anger, dropping the temperature of the room to absolute zero. It was the clinical tone of a surgeon declaring a time of death.
I turned on my heel, keeping Ethan securely tucked under my arm, and walked out of the dining room.
As I marched down the grand hallway, retrieving our coats from the terrified butler who had witnessed the entire scene from the doorway, I felt my phone buzz violently in my pocket.
I strapped Ethan into his booster seat in the back of my SUV, my hands moving with practiced, robotic efficiency. I wiped the tears from his cheeks, kissed his forehead, and promised him he would never, ever have to see those people again.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled my phone from my pocket. It was a text message from Daniel.
Mom says Ethan provoked her. Jess, please, just turn the car around. She’s hysterical about the plate. If you just come back in and apologize for his clumsiness, she might calm down. We can’t leave like this, she might cut us out of the will.
