My mother glared at him.
“You’re turning her against us.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You did.”
A police officer asked for the keys.
Lauren did not move.
“This is ridiculous,” she snapped. “It was a misunderstanding.”
Mr. Parker held up the order.
“No. It is a judgment.”
Lauren finally dug into her purse and dropped the key fob into the officer’s hand. He handed it to me.
The key felt heavier than it should have.
My mother whispered, “You’re humiliating us.”
I looked at her.
“You humiliated me every day. You just did it privately.”
My father, standing behind her, finally spoke.
“Madison,” he said, his voice rough. “I didn’t know it was that much.”
“You didn’t want to know,” I replied.
He looked away.
My grandfather stepped forward then, quiet and severe.
“You used my money to build your little kingdom,” he told my mother. “You forgot who I am.”
“Dad—”
“Stop,” he said. “Today, you are not my daughter. You are a defendant.”
Lauren began yelling that I was stealing “her” car.
The officer warned her once.
I turned away before they could pull me back into their chaos.
I got into the Cadillac.
For a moment, I froze with my hands on the wheel. Their voices still lived inside my head.
Too fragile.
Too tired.
Too unstable.
Then I looked in the rearview mirror.
I saw myself.
