A woman beside him stared at me.
Maya sighed. “You don’t know what it does to a mother, being kept from her babies.”
I set down my water glass.
“He kept the girls isolated.”
Penelope appeared beside me. “Dad.”
Mia’s eyes were wet. “Please tell me you heard that.”
“I heard.”
Lucille’s voice was low. “Say the word.”
Piper whispered, “Not here. Please.”
Shannon just stared at Maya.
I took one step forward.
“Please tell me you heard that.”
Adele touched my arm.
“Not yet, Dad.”
“She’s lying about all of us.”
“I know.”
“Then why wait?”
Adele looked toward the white box near the gift table.
“Because this time we’re not answering a lie with anger. We’re answering it with proof.”
Across the room, Maya laughed like she was winning.
“She’s lying about all of us.”
Before the planned speeches wrapped up, Maya stood and reached for the microphone.
“If I may,” she said, smiling at Harry. “A mother should say a few words on her daughter’s wedding day.”
My chair scraped back.
Adele stood first.
Maya lifted the mic. “Adele, my beautiful girl, from the day you were born, I dreamed of seeing you in white.”
Adele’s face stayed calm.
“I dreamed of seeing you in white.”
“A mother’s love never leaves,” Maya went on. “Even when life, pain, and other people pull her away from her children.”
The room went quiet.
“There are things children can’t understand. Sometimes a mother is kept from her children.”
Adele stepped forward. “Actually, Mom, before you finish, I have something for you.”
Penelope and Lucille brought out the white box tied with satin ribbon.
Maya blinked, then smiled wider. “For me?”
“I have something for you.”
“For you,” Adele said. “Open it.”
Maya pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid.
At first she just stared.
Inside were 15 envelopes, each labeled with a year. Under them, photos, invitations, programs, returned letters, printed emails, and my old notebook with the cracked spine.
Color drained from Maya’s face. “What’s this?”
Inside were 15 envelopes.
Adele stepped closer. “Fifteen years of things Dad sent you and you sent back.”
Maya picked up an envelope. “This is fake.”
“No,” I said.
Maya’s eyes flashed. “Robert, don’t.”
Adele lifted a small pink card. “Piper made this when she was nine. It says, ‘Please come to my birthday, Mom.'”
