“At my son’s wedding, you pointed at me in front o…

I kept my head down. I smoothed my dress. I focused on my breathing, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks.

This was my son’s wedding. I wasn’t going to cause a scene. I wasn’t going to embarrass him.

But then it got worse. Much worse. The bride’s father, Charles Whitmore, stepped onto the stage with his wife, Diane.

They were the kind of wealthy people who wore their money like armor. Diane’s dress probably cost more than most people’s cars. Charles’s watch glinted under the ballroom lights, heavy and gold and impossible to miss.

He took the microphone, his voice booming across the room. “Good evening, everyone. What a beautiful night to celebrate love.”

The crowd applauded.