Her eyes flash. “Here is exactly where we do it. Because here is where you remember how to behave.”
Something in me snaps.
I turn away from her and walk straight back into the ballroom, heels clicking sharp against the floor, the noise and light swallowing me whole. I can feel her follow, feel her at my back as the crowd closes in again.
I turn and stare at her, and my skin feels too tight.
My mother moves closer, lowering her voice further. “Do you see her?”
Her gaze cuts across the room, sharp and deliberate.
Sarah.
“She’s here,” my mother says, satisfied. “She’s doing what she’s supposed to do. She’s supportinghim, looking perfect, making the right impression. That’s what a woman does when she wants people to respect her. That should be you, nother.”
My stomach twists.
“And you,” she continues, “are pouting like a child while your husband is in there representing the university without you.”
My jaw tightens. “He’s myex-husband,” I say, sharp enough that it cuts.
Her mouth presses into a thin line, like the correction annoys her more than the mistake.
“You know what I mean,” she says.
“I do,” I answer, my voice tight. “And that’s exactly the problem.”
“You’re embarrassing,” she says bluntly. “Do you know how lucky you are? Do you understand what you had? A man like Jace, a marriage that fixed what you tarnished, a life you didn’t deserve after the way you behaved.”
My vision blurs at the edges. “Stop,” I whisper.
Her face hardens. “Stop what? Telling you the truth? You don’t like the truth, Sierra, because the truth makes you accountable.”
My pulse pounds in my ears.
She leans in, eyes cutting. “You lost your baby and you still couldn’t manage to be grateful for what you had left.”
My whole body goes cold and the room tilts for a second. I stare at her like I don’t recognize her, like she’s a stranger wearing my mother’s face.
“You don’t get to say that,” I manage, voice shaking.
Her smile is small and vicious. “I get to say whatever I want, because I’m the only one who’ll tell you what you need to hear. Everyone else coddles you. Griff coddles you. Your friends coddle you. They all treat you like you’re fragile.”
My throat burns.
“And then you do stupid things,” she continues, “because no one holds you responsible. You think you can float through life and everything will just… fix itself.”
I take a shaky breath. “I’m not floating.”
“You are,” she says, eyes narrowed. “You’re standing on a life that was handed to you, and you’re still acting like you’re owed something.”
My fingers dig into the clutch. My chest feels tight and hot, like I’m holding a scream inside my ribs.
I try to breathe to keep my face neutral.
I try to stay inside the box I’ve lived in my entire life. But the box is cracking.
My mother leans in, her voice low and cutting. “You don’t get to disappear,” she says. “Not after everything you ruined. If people are going to look at you tonight, you’re going to give them something respectable to look at.”
