"Everyone, look!" She pointed at us, voice dripping with theatrical outrage. "These shameless people tried to dine and dash! Not a penny to their names, yet they have the audacity to claim my restaurant serves pre-made dishes. And now they're faking illness to skip out on the bill!"
Curiosity curdled into contempt. Whispers hissed through the room.
"High-end establishment, celebrity chef—pre-made dishes? Please. If you can't afford it, don't slander the business."
"Trying to scam people on New Year's Eve? How desperate can you get?"
"Old woman, drop the act. Isn't it humiliating enough getting dragged out like a sack of potatoes?"
"Look at the old geezer. One glance and you can tell he's trouble. Deserved getting his teeth knocked out."
My in-laws had lived lives of dignity. When had they ever endured such public degradation?
Zoe's face turned a terrifying purple. Her body seized, convulsed violently, then went completely limp against the floor.
"Wife!"
"Mom!"
My father-in-law and I screamed together, voices cracking. We begged the crowd for help, and finally, the severity pierced through their prejudice.
"Wait—" a diner muttered. "That looks like a real heart attack."