Chapter 2

The memory of my hard work, the late nights, the missed moments with Leo, all to build our life, flashed through my mind. The irony was a punch to the gut. Here I was, publicly shamed, financially stranded by the man who supposedly championed my strength.

Suddenly, a new voice, loud and grating, cut through the murmurs.

"There she is! Spending my son' s hard-earned money like it grows on trees!"

Brenda Johnson, Mark' s mother, stormed towards me, her face a mask of indignation. She was a woman who believed the world owed her, and by extension, Mark, a living.

"You' re bleeding him dry, Sarah! Living way above your means, and for what? To show off at these fancy parties?"

She waved a sheaf of papers in my face. Printouts of Zelle transfers. Tiny amounts. Twenty dollars here, fifty there. From Mark to her.

"See this? My son, so generous, always helping his poor mother out, while you drain his accounts for designer dresses and God knows what else!"

My mind reeled. Those small transfers were a drop in the ocean compared to the thousands I poured into our joint life, into supporting Mark. He was painting himself as the provider to his mother, using my money. The crowd was eating it up, their earlier whispers now solidifying into judgment.

Jessica, with a saccharine smile, glided past. "Oh, Sarah, so clumsy of me!"

Red wine arced through the air, splashing down the front of my cream silk dress – my one truly expensive designer piece, a gift to myself after a huge campaign success. It bloomed like a grotesque flower.

The crowd gasped, then fell into a strange, watchful silence. No one offered a napkin. No one met my eye. It was as if I' d suddenly become invisible, or worse, something distasteful.

The stain spread, a public mark of my humiliation. I stood there, dripping, wine and shame clinging to me. I felt utterly drained, my legs weak. The noise of the gala, the laughter, the music, all seemed to fade into a distant roar.

I just wanted to go home, to crawl into bed and disappear.

When I finally managed to escape, the drive home was a blur. I found Leo in his room, a brand-new VR headset strapped to his face. He was laughing, oblivious.

"Leo," I began, my voice hoarse.

He pulled the headset off, his smile vanishing when he saw me. Or maybe, when he saw the wine stain.

"What happened to your dress?"

"It' s nothing. How was your day?" I tried for a normal tone, a connection.

He shrugged, already turning back to his game. "Fine. Dad got me this. It' s awesome."

He clutched the headset. Mark "surprised" him with it. With my money, no doubt.

"Leo, can we talk for a minute?"

He sighed, the exaggerated sigh of a pre-teen forced to endure adult nonsense. "What? You' re always working and stressed. Dad says you' re no fun. Tiffany lets me do whatever I want."

The name hit me. Tiffany. Who was Tiffany?