neatly beside my plate.
“Understood.”
Dad smiled slightly, mistaking my calmness for surrender.
“Good. I’m picking them up from their hotel tomorrow morning. Be gone by noon. And leave your office furniture. Madison needs it.”
I walked into my bedroom and locked the door.
For almost an hour, I sat on the floor holding my mother’s blue scarf.
Part of me still expected Dad to knock.
To apologize.
To tell me he had gone too far.
He never did.
Instead, through the wall, I heard champagne corks popping while the
