Marlene leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “Besides, Helen, let’s be honest. What can you really offer this family? Michael is already established. We can give Chloe everything she needs. You? Well, you just don’t have the resources or the status or the connections.”
“I only have love,” I said in a low voice.
She let out a short, almost cruel laugh. “Love doesn’t pay for private universities. Love doesn’t open doors in society. Love doesn’t get you a seat at the right table.”
Ironic, because at that moment I was sitting at their table, but I had no place. I had no plate. I had no voice. I only had a glass of water and an infinite amount of humiliation being served as if it were part of the menu.
The waiter approached again, this time with the check. He placed it discreetly near Michael in a leather folder. My son opened it, checked the total, and pulled out his credit card without even blinking.
“$780,” he muttered. “Reasonable for five people.”
Five people.
They had included my spot in the bill. Even though I hadn’t eaten anything, they had paid for my humiliation—for my empty chair, for my silence.