“Good,” I say. “Let them hear.”
We walk upstairs together. I notice things I hadn’t imagined before — flashy furniture, expensive art I never approved, shoes scattered like the house belongs to everyone but her.
Music thumps from the living room. Laughter spills through the air.
Then it stops.
My mother, Margaret, stands near the table in heavy gold jewelry. When she sees me, her smile falters.
“Ryan! What a surprise!”
My brother Ethan nearly drops his glass. Guests stare.
I don’t raise my voice.
“Who’s hosting this party?” I ask.
“We are,” my mother replies. “Family celebration.”
“Then let’s talk as a family.”
I place a hand at Isabella’s back. She’s trembling.
“I came home to surprise my wife,” I say. “Instead, I found her washing pans like hired staff.”
Murmurs ripple through the room.
“Don’t exaggerate,” Margaret says sharply. “She likes staying busy. It’s good for her.”
“Good for her,” I repeat slowly.
Ethan shrugs. “She helps out. You know Isabella.”
“Do I?” I ask. “Because I know the woman who stayed with me when I had nothing. The woman I promised to protect.”
I look at my mother. “You’re wearing her dignity like jewelry.”
“Watch your tone,” she snaps.
I nod. “The party’s over.”