“I don’t want him getting bumped into.”
Chloe lowered her voice.
“Rachel, could Leo sit somewhere a little quieter tonight?”
I frowned.
“Why?”
She glanced toward the tripod.
“It’s kind of ruining the vibe in here. It’s just better for the aesthetic.”
“You are not putting my son in a garage.”
“He’s fine where he is.”
“I even made him a cozy spot in the heated garage. Movies, snacks… I thought he’d actually enjoy it.”
The light left Leo’s eyes.
I watched it go. The same excitement he’d carried up the ramp, the same grin he’d worn all the way there.
My fingers tightened around the wheelchair handles until my knuckles ached against the rubber grips.
“It’s just seating.”
“Chloe,” I said, and my voice came out lower than I meant. “You are not putting my son in a garage.”
“It’s heated,” she said quickly. “I’ve spent weeks trying to make tonight run smoothly.”
“He’s ten.”
“Rachel, please don’t make this a whole thing.” She flicked her eyes at the tripod. “It’s just seating.”
My brother finally looked up from his wine glass.
“Let’s just get through dinner first.”
“Rach,” Ryan said quietly, “I think Chloe’s just trying to keep the evening organized.”
“By putting my son in the garage?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“That’s not what she means.”
Chloe reached for his arm.
“Thank you.”
A heavier hand landed on my shoulder.
Ryan gave me a small, apologetic smile.
“Let’s just get through dinner first, okay?”
Mark stepped up behind me, his hand at the small of my back.
I opened my mouth to say something I could not take back. Something that would ruin my parents’ anniversary, something Leo would remember longer than the folding table.
A heavier hand landed on my shoulder.
My dad.
“Trust me.”
He did not look angry. That was the strange part. He looked at Chloe.
“Let me start this, sweetheart,” he murmured against my ear. “But you finish it.”
I hesitated. My whole body wanted to fight.
“Please,” he added. “Trust me.”
I nodded once, barely.
“Before we sit down, I’d like a moment.”
Dad squeezed my shoulder and stepped past us. I watched him walk toward the head of the table, and only then did I notice the folded envelope tucked in the inside pocket of his blazer, the corner of it peeking out as he moved.
I glanced at mom. She was already looking at me. Her tight smile trembled at the corners, and she gave me the smallest nod, the kind that meant let him begin.
My brother stood frozen, his knuckles white around his wine glass.
Dad reached the head of the table, picked up his water glass, and tapped it lightly with his knife. The soft chime cut through the room.
