My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been

Then her voice softened into something smaller. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, and it sounded like fear instead of manipulation. “I don’t know how to be your mother if I can’t… manage things.”

I swallowed hard. It would’ve been easier if she stayed a villain. It was harder when she sounded human.

“Then learn,” I said. “Ask me how I’m doing without turning it into a strategy. Ask Clare what she needs without bargaining. Learn how to love without using.”

She whispered my name like it hurt. “I’m trying.”

“Try better,” I said, and ended the call before I could start rescuing her feelings.

That night, Clare came over unexpectedly, showing up at my door in jeans and a sweatshirt like she’d forgotten she was supposed to be a Wellington now.

Her eyes were tired. “Ethan and I fought,” she said immediately.

I stepped aside to let her in. “About what?”

“About you,” she admitted, voice thick. “About Daniel. About his parents. Ethan’s mom keeps talking about how the White House reception proves we’re ‘in the right circles.’ And Ethan keeps telling me to just smile and be grateful.”