My family and I went to my parents’ house for Easter dinner. My four-year-old daughter excitedly ran to sit at the table. My mother immediately grabbed her hair and kicked her hard, saying, “This is for children – GET OUT!” When I tried to speak up, my older sister said, “GET OUT – DON’T RUIN THE DINNER!” What they didn’t know was that the Easter present hidden in my purse would kick them out of the house permanently.
The grand formal dining room of the Vance manor was suffocatingly perfect. It was the kind of room that demanded reverence, reeking of expensive, aged Bordeaux, beeswax polish, and the metallic, bitter scent of old arrogance. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, fractured light over the massive mahogany table, set with imported porcelain and heavy antique…
