Now he looked ashamed of every excuse he had made.
My father moved beside my mother and handed her his jacket.
“Patty, are you hurt?”
“My eyes sting, but I’m fine.”
Marcus asked a host to bring water and a clean towel.
Then he faced Linda.
“Mrs. Whitmore, you need to leave.”
She blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You assaulted a guest.”
“I am the groom’s mother.”
“That does not change what happened.”
Linda looked around as though expecting someone to defend her.
Some diners turned away.
Others were openly watching.
Her husband, Charles, had sat quietly at the far end of the table throughout most of the confrontation.
Finally, he stood.
“Linda,” he said, “we’re leaving.”
She stared at him.
“You’re taking their side?”
“I’m taking the side of reality.”
That silenced her.
Security escorted Linda toward the entrance while Charles followed behind.
She never apologized to my mother.
She never apologized to me.
At the door, she turned toward Daniel.
“You’re going to regret humiliating your own family.”
Daniel answered quietly.
“You did that yourself.”
When they left, the restaurant slowly returned to normal.
Our dinner didn’t.
My father brought us upstairs to his office, where Marcus pulled up the security recording.
The video was worse than I remembered.
Linda’s voice was perfectly clear.
She mocked my mother’s dress.
Called my family “provincial.”
Called me a poor waitress.
Then threw the wine after my mother told her to stop speaking about me as though I were for sale.
Daniel watched the recording twice.
The second time, he covered his face.
