Maya hugged Adele as if fifteen years of absence could be repaired by one dramatic entrance.
Then she pulled back, loud enough for nearby guests to hear.
“You have to understand,” Maya said, touching Adele’s cheek. “Back then, everything was your father’s fault.”
My stomach tightened.
There it was.
The story she had come to sell.
I expected Adele to freeze. I expected tears. I expected one of her sisters to snap.
But Adele only smiled.
“Mom,” she said softly, “I’m so happy to see you. Come stand in the middle of the room. I have something I’d like to give you.”
Maya’s face lit up.
She probably imagined a speech. A public forgiveness. Maybe even a daughter begging for the mother she had lost.
Instead, two ushers brought out a large white box tied with a gold ribbon.
The room went silent.
Maya laughed. “For me?”
Adele nodded.
“For you.”