“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

Jessica even tugged slightly at Mark’s arm, signaling him to introduce her to Mr. Harrison. But Mr. Harrison seemed not to see them. His gaze focused instead on the tacky party decorations, the dirty dishes scattered about, and the food scraps that had not yet been cleaned up. Mark felt even more bewildered by Mr. Harrison’s cold reaction. He tried to break the ice by offering him drinks and food. He shouted my name, but this time not with the harsh voice from before, but in a softly feigned tone, yet laden with pressure. He asked me to quickly bring a hot drink for Mr. Harrison. Perhaps the best tea or coffee we had.