Chapter 5 - An Uncomfortable Table for Eight
Patricia Reynolds was a woman who had spent sixty years cultivating an image of impenetrable high-society poise. But as she looked from the legal documents on the table to the four stunning, well-dressed children standing in her foyer, that facade began to crack in real time.
"Kesha..." Patricia began, her voice suddenly softening into a syrupy, manipulative tone that made my stomach turn. "Please... this is Christmas. We are civilized people. We are family."
"Family?" Sophia repeated, tilting her head. "Grandma, why didn't you send us a Christmas card for eight years if we're family?"
Patricia flinched as if she had been struck across the face.
"Sweetheart..." Patricia tried to smile at Sophia, extending a manicured hand toward her. "Grandma didn't know... your father made a terrible mistake, but—"
"Do not touch my daughter," I said, stepping between them once more. "And do not insult these children’s intelligence by pretending you were an innocent bystander. When I called your personal phone from the hospital while experiencing early labor contractions at twenty-eight weeks, Patricia, do you remember what you said to me?"
Patricia’s eyes darted away, unable to hold my gaze.
"You told me that if I ever called your house again, you would use your family's influence to have Child Protective Services take my babies the moment they were born and place them in state custody so they wouldn't tarnish your son’s reputation."
The silence in the room was now absolute. Several guests who had known the Reynolds family for decades looked at Patricia with open revulsion.
"Is that true, Patricia?" asked Eleanor Sterling, one of Boulder’s most prominent philanthropists. "You threatened a woman carrying your grandchildren in labor?"
"It... it was a misunderstanding!" Patricia sputtered, her face turning a blotchy, uneven red. "I thought she was a criminal! I was protecting my son!"
"Dinner is served in the main dining room!" the head caterer suddenly announced from the doorway, his voice trembling as he tried desperately to fulfill his contractual duties and relieve the suffocating tension.
I looked at the grand dining table through the archway. It was set for thirty people, adorned with fine china, crystal candelabras, and silver centerpieces.
"Well," I said with a bright, effortless smile. "Marcus did invite me for Christmas dinner. It would be terribly bad manners to let all that exquisite food go to waste. Children, shall we take our seats?"
"Yes, Mama," the four of them replied in unison.
Without waiting for an invitation from the homeowners, my children and I walked into the grand dining room. Noah pulled out a chair for Sophia with the grace of a polished gentleman, while Ethan helped Olivia sit before taking his own seat. I took the seat at the head of the table—the seat traditionally reserved for the head of the household.
May you like
Marcus, Chloe, and Patricia stood frozen in the doorway, along with twenty bewildered high-society guests who didn't know whether to sit down or flee the premises.
"Come now, Marcus," I called out pleasantly, unfolding a white linen napkin and placing it across my lap. "Sit down. You wanted to show everyone how well you were doing. Let's have that holiday conversation."
