Lianne laughed first, short and sharp. Then Keaton shook his head and smirked as if my son’s pain were some private family joke. My father said nothing. He just stood there, allowing it, which somehow felt worse.
I froze.
Not because I was weak. Not because I had nothing to say. I froze because my parents had trained me my entire life to do exactly that. They had spent years treating every mistake I made like proof I was defective. Getting pregnant at twenty-three, after a brief relationship that ended before Bennett was born, had become their favorite exhibit. I had built a career, raised my son alone, and repaid every loan they ever mentioned, but in their eyes I was still the family disgrace dressed in better clothes.
Bennett took one small step backward until his legs bumped against my dress.
And then Callum Voss, my fiancé, stood up from the front row.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t raise his voice. That made it worse for them. He crossed the floor in a dark suit, gently placed a hand on Bennett’s shoulder, and moved him behind him before facing my parents. Every conversation in the barn died instantly. Even the violinist stopped tuning.