“You’re late, Helen,” she said, looking at her gold watch.
She called me Helen, not Mom. She never does. Just Helen, as if we were friends of the same age, as if there were no family hierarchy between us.
“The traffic was terrible,” I replied, taking a seat in the only empty chair—the one at the corner, almost as if they had wanted to hide me.
The restaurant was impressive: high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, pristine white tablecloths, the kind of place where every dish costs what some people earn in a week. I recognized some of the patrons—businessmen, local politicians, people with real money. I wondered how Michael could afford this. As far as I knew, his job at that consulting firm paid well, but not this well.
The waiter approached with the menus—black leatherbound menus with no prices listed. That’s always the sign that everything is outrageously expensive.
Marlene didn’t even open hers. She snapped her fingers.
“Yes.” She literally snapped her fingers and said, “Five lobster thermodors, the large ones, and a bottle of your best white wine.”
“Four lobsters,” Michael corrected her gently, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
Marlene looked at him, confused, then followed his gaze to me. And then she smiled. That smile—the same one she uses when she’s about to stick the knife in.
“Oh, right,” she said as if she had just remembered I existed. “Four lobsters.”
She turned to the waiter and added, raising her voice just enough to sound casual, but so everyone could hear, “We don’t provide extra food. Just water for her.”
The waiter blinked, uncomfortable. He looked at me, expecting me to say something, to order for myself. But before I could open my mouth, Michael intervened.
“It’s just that Mom already ate before she came, right?”
His tone was soft but firm. It wasn’t a question. It was a command in disguise.
I felt something break inside me. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sad background music or slow motion. Just a silent crack somewhere in my chest where hope used to be.
“Of course,” I said finally. “Just water is fine.”
Marlene smiled, satisfied, and leaned back in her chair. The waiter nodded and walked away quickly, probably relieved to escape the tension.
Marlene’s parents didn’t even seem to notice the exchange. They were too busy admiring the place, commenting on how exclusive it all was.
And so the dinner began.
Well, their dinner.
I just had my glass of water—clear, cold, silent—just as I was apparently supposed to be.
The lobsters arrived ten minutes later: four enormous steaming plates, with that aroma of butter and herbs that filled the whole table. The waiter placed them carefully in front of each of them—Marlene, Michael, and her parents, who hadn’t even said a word to me since I arrived.
Not a hello. Not a how are you.
Nothing.
It was as if I were invisible, or worse, as if I were part of the furniture.
Marlene was the first to crack the shell of her lobster. The crunch echoed in the awkward silence that had settled. She took a generous piece of white meat, dipped it in melted butter, and brought it to her mouth with deliberate slowness. She closed her eyes as if she were tasting something divine.
Theatrical. Everything about her was always so theatrical.
“Exquisite,” she murmured delicately, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Absolutely exquisite. This place never disappoints.”
Her mother nodded enthusiastically. “It’s the best restaurant in the city. Without a doubt. So exclusive, so refined.”
Michael also began to eat, though I noticed he avoided looking at me. He kept his eyes fixed on his plate, concentrating on breaking apart the lobster as if it were the most important task in the world.
Coward.
My son—the man I raised to be brave, to stand up for what’s right—had become a coward.
I remained seated, hands in my lap, observing. My glass of water was still there, untouched. I didn’t even feel like drinking it. It wasn’t about thirst. It was about dignity. And in that moment, I felt like they had ripped every last ounce of it from me.
Marlene’s father, a heavy set man with a gray mustache and an air of superiority, finally spoke.
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