“Richard, you know how sensitive Maya is. She sometimes exaggerates things.”
I looked at my daughter.
Then back at my wife.
“Exaggerates?”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“I’m only trying to teach her discipline. She’s nine years old. She needs structure.”
“Structure?”
“Yes.”
Her confidence returned.
“She has become spoiled, Richard. You give her everything. Expensive clothes, private lessons, vacations. She needs to understand that life isn’t always about getting whatever she wants.”
I looked around the pantry.
The irony was almost impossible to believe.
“My daughter wanted to eat dinner at the table.”
Eleanor opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
For the first time that night, she had no answer.
Behind her, I noticed movement.
The guests from the dining room had gathered quietly in the hallway.
Richard’s business associates.
Eleanor’s friends.
The people who had just been praising her.
Now they were watching.
Watching the woman they thought was perfect.
Watching the little girl she had hidden away.
One of Eleanor’s friends, a woman named Victoria, covered her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.