Adele held up the card.
It read:
“Reserved for the mother who left, and for the truth she tried to bury.”
Maya gasped. “How dare you humiliate me at your wedding?”
Adele’s eyes filled with tears, but she did not lower her head.
“You came here to humiliate Dad,” she said. “You came here to pretend you were the victim. I’m not doing this for revenge. I’m doing this because our family spent fifteen years being polite about your absence.”
One of my younger daughters began crying. Another reached for my hand.
Adele looked at Maya and softened, just a little.
“I don’t hate you,” she said. “But you don’t get to walk into the room you abandoned and ask us to clap for your return.”
Maya’s face twisted between shame and anger.
Harry muttered, “We should leave.”
For once, Maya followed someone out.
But this time, my daughters didn’t chase her.