They know something is wrong.
“I gave him divorce papers,” Mia announces.
“Mia, what the hell is wrong with you?” my mother snaps. “How dare you pull a stunt like this?”
My wife lets out a husky laugh.
“Edith, the stunt that started this ball rolling was pulled weeks ago by Aiden”—she lets her gaze drop on Diana—“andher.”
“What?” Diana stands up. “What do you mean?”
Mia plucks the photos from my hand. I let her. I’m too shocked to do much. I’m standing on ice that’s breaking. I’m already sinking into the cold water.
She tosses the stack of photos into the air like confetti. They scatter like snowflakes across the Persian rug.
Diana lets out a sharp gasp. “What the hell is this?”
Everyone gets their hands on a photo. There’s plenty to go around.
Whispers. Glares. My mother makes a strangled sound.
My father mutters, “What’s going on?”
My throat closes.
Diana, across the room, goes pale.
“This is terrible behavior, Mia.” Dad looks at the photo and flings it down on the ground.
“No, it’s not. And even if it is, I’m fine with how I’m behaving. It’s botheringyou, which I don’t give two fucks about,” Mia intones calmly. “See the difference?”
“How dare you?” Dad is about to lose his shit, and I find myself standing between him and Mia.
She laughs—actuallylaughs. It’s not bitter. It’s not hysterical. It’s light, cold, and free. “Yourson kissed another woman on Thanksgiving, and you’re talking aboutmybehavior?”
“You ungrateful little—” my mother starts.
“Mom, don’t.” I hold up a hand to stop her from making this worse. “Mia, let’s talk about this.”
“Talking is so overrated, don’t you think?” Miaremarks carelessly. But I know her. She’s broken. I broke her. I know I did.
“You were the love of my life.” Her voice is shaky now, and I can feel her pain. “And you threw me away.I begged for your attention, your time, and your loyalty, and I got crumbs. I’m done being grateful for scraps.”
CHAPTER 9
Mia
“Get out.” Edith points to the door.
I ignore her.
I glance around the room—all of them frozen in a perfect tableau of shock and outrage. Eyes like knives. Mouths half-open. Like they can’t believe the quiet little kindergarten teacher just burned their carefully curated Winter Wonderland to ash.
“Oh, I’ll leave, Edith,” I say laconically. “But let’s get a few facts straight first.”
I hadn’t planned on this. But the way they’re all looking at me right now, holier than thou, like I’m at fault, is burning a hole through my gut.
“I’ve kept my mouth shut for six years,” I say. “But I’m about to fix that.”
