An hour earlier, we’d been celebrating Marjorie’s sixty-second birthday.

A private chef had prepared dinner, a live band was performing in the garden, and expensive floral arrangements decorated the dining room.

I’d paid for everything.

Marjorie had stood before her guests and raised a toast to Mitchell.

“My wonderful son has carried this family on his shoulders, even after marrying a woman who cares more about business than being a proper wife.”

Several relatives laughed.

Then she turned toward me.

“Perhaps if you’d spent less time building companies, God wouldn’t have taken your baby.”

Eight months earlier, I’d lost our child.

Mitchell knew how deeply that loss had affected me. He knew there were still nights when I woke up crying.

Yet he sat there silently while his mother used our baby’s death to humiliate me.

I placed my fork on the table.

“Never use my child’s death against me again.”

Marjorie pressed a hand against her chest.

“Did everyone hear that? She’s disrespecting me in my own home!”