“David, don’t you think your wife’s being a little rude?” Cindy sneered, her voice loud enough to cut through the chatter. “Look at her—just sitting there, stuffing her face without saying a word to anyone. People who know us might think we’re chill, but strangers? They’ll probably assume you married someone who doesn’t even know how to speak!”
Her words cut through the festive atmosphere like a knife. I froze mid-bite, slowly put my fork down, and glanced at David, silently pleading for him to say something—anything—in my defense.
To my utter shock, he sided with her.
“Well, she’s not wrong, Elaine,” David said, barely glancing in my direction. “My grandparents are here. You should greet them before you start eating. People are watching, you know.”
I froze, stunned, but when I looked around, I caught the sharp, judgmental stares of his relatives. Their eyes bore into me like I was some kind of zoo exhibit. The suffocating discomfort settled heavily in my chest.
Reluctantly, I stood up and did as David suggested, offering a few polite greetings to the elders. Then, desperate for an escape, I made a quick excuse about feeling full and wanting to rest.