My mother’s smile curdled.
“Elena, don’t make a scene,” she hissed, her hand tightening on that beautiful, expensive bag. “After everything we gave you—”
“You gave me a deadline, Mom,” I said. “Samuel gave me my name back.”
The silence in that room was total.
Hundreds of people who knew exactly what it was to be thrown away, standing witness while two people in expensive coats realized there was not a single face in that crowd on their side.
“Mr. Pennington,” I said, without raising my voice, “would you show my parents out? They’re not on the list of people my friend wanted here.”
And the man in the charcoal suit stepped forward, and he did.
My mother and father walked back out through the glass doors they’d swept in through, and this time, I did not cr*, and I did not chase them, and I did not feel small.
