She swept over, wine glass in hand, smile too wide.
“Oh, look who’s here!” she announced, her voice ringing out for everyone to hear. “And completely empty-handed! Must be so nice to just show up and enjoy the party while the rest of us pitched in.”
A few people gave polite, awkward laughs. Others looked down at their plates.
Heat flooded my cheeks. I wanted to speak up — to remind her that I was only doing what she told me — but my throat tightened. My son, Jake, glanced my way, his jaw tightening. Then he looked away. I knew that look. He didn’t approve, but he wouldn’t challenge her. Not here.
I stood frozen, the bag crinkling in my hands.
