Chapter 9 - THE RECKONING AT THE DINNER TABLEWhile Miles and I were riding through the hills, a very different kind of dinner was taking place in a modest suburban town twenty miles away.
My parents had downsized.
The sprawling Connecticut estate hadn't survived the Sterling Corp compliance audit. Between the canceled municipal contracts, the sudden withdrawal of wealthy investor backing, and the federal review of my father's accounting practices, my parents had been forced to sell the house, downsize to a three-bedroom colonial, and face the agonizing reality of social obscurity.
Lois was living in the guest room. Her fraudulent career was a matter of public internet lore, her designer clothes were up for resale online, and her phone had stopped ringing entirely.
At their new, modest dining room table, the atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet.
There were no catered appetizers. No expensive wine. No wealthy neighbors to impress. Just takeout lasagna on paper plates and the deafening silence of a family built on sand.
Mom pushed her lasagna around her paper plate with a plastic fork, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow. "I saw her picture online," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Serena. One of the society columns featured her at the regional business awards last night. She was sitting with... with the Sterling family."
Dad didn't look up from his plate. His hair had gone completely gray over the past month, and his shoulders were permanently rounded. He didn't say a word.
Lois shoved her chair back from the table, the metal legs screeching loudly against the linoleum floor.
"Shut up, Mom," Lois spat, her eyes flashing with venom. "Just stop talking about her."
May you like
She stormed out of the dining room, slamming the bedroom door behind her.
Mom let out a ragged, broken sigh, staring across the empty table at her husband. For the first time in thirty years, there was no one left to judge, no one left to compare, and no one left to blame.
