Chapter 2 - The Silence After the Guests Left
Nobody knew what to do after that.
The guests stood there in stunned silence. A few of them looked embarrassed for witnessing something so ugly. A few looked horrified. Most just wanted to disappear.
My father didn’t care about any of them.
He kept Elsie behind him while she cried into the back of his jacket, then he looked around the room once and said, “This gathering is over.”
No one argued.
Within minutes, the house emptied out. Shoes moved over hardwood. Murmured apologies. Coats were collected from the foyer. The front door kept opening and closing until the house that had felt crowded and overheated was suddenly too quiet.
Celeste pressed a hand to her cheek and stared at me as if she expected me to defend her.
“Grant,” she said, her voice tight with disbelief, “you’re really going to let him do that to me?”
I was still sitting near the broken TV, breathing hard, one shoulder aching from the impact. I looked at the shattered screen, the spilled wine, and then at my daughter clinging to my father like he was the only safe place in the room.
“What did she ruin?” I asked.
Celeste blinked. “What?”
“You said she ruined everything.”
“She embarrassed me in front of everyone,” Celeste snapped. “She kept interrupting. She knocked into the dessert table earlier. She’s been impossible all week.”
Elsie flinched behind my father.
That flinch hit me harder than his kick had.
Victor’s voice was low and dangerous. “Don’t say another word to that child.”
Celeste laughed once—a brittle, disbelieving sound. “Oh, please. You’re acting like I beat her.”
At that, my father turned his head just enough for her to see his face.
“Try saying that again,” he said, “and see what happens.”
She shut up.
He looked down at Elsie. “Sweetheart, do you want to stay here tonight?”
She didn’t even hesitate.
“No.”
One word. Tiny voice. Absolute answer.
My stomach dropped.
Victor nodded. “Then you’re coming home with me.”
“Dad,” I said, finally pushing myself to my feet, “I need to talk to her.”
“No,” he said.
“She’s my daughter.”
“And today you forgot that.”
I wish I could say I had a defense ready. I didn’t.
I watched him take Elsie’s little overnight bag from beside the stairs. I watched him wrap my cardigan-shaking daughter in one of the blankets from the sofa. I watched him walk her toward the front door.
She never looked back at Celeste.
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The worse truth was that she barely looked back at me.
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