“Exquisite,” she murmured delicately, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Absolutely exquisite. This place never disappoints.”
Her mother nodded enthusiastically. “It’s the best restaurant in the city. Without a doubt. So exclusive, so refined.”
Michael also began to eat, though I noticed he avoided looking at me. He kept his eyes fixed on his plate, concentrating on breaking apart the lobster as if it were the most important task in the world.
Coward.
My son—the man I raised to be brave, to stand up for what’s right—had become a coward.
I remained seated, hands in my lap, observing. My glass of water was still there, untouched. I didn’t even feel like drinking it. It wasn’t about thirst. It was about dignity. And in that moment, I felt like they had ripped every last ounce of it from me.
Marlene’s father, a heavy set man with a gray mustache and an air of superiority, finally spoke.
“Michael, your mother is very quiet. Has she always been like this?”
He spoke about me as if I weren’t there, as if I were a topic of conversation and not a real person sitting less than three feet away.