She thought about quietly requesting a new plate, but before she could say a word, Michael spotted her dish—and laughed.
He turned toward his new wife with a playful smirk. “She’s used to taking whatever life scrapes together,” he said lightly, as though sharing a harmless family joke.
“Growing up, she turned leftovers into everything. You would’ve been amazed at her creativity,” he added, gesturing with his fork as if he were giving a toast.
It wasn’t the words themselves that stung. It was the way they were offered—carelessly, publicly, and without a single thought for the woman who had stretched every dollar, every hour, and every bit of energy she had to give him the childhood he enjoyed.
Linda felt warmth rise in her cheeks. She smiled politely, nodding as though she, too, found the moment funny. The room softened into a quiet blur around her. Without drawing attention, she eased her chair back and slipped through a side door, leaving behind the twinkling lights, the music, and the laughter.
No one noticed she’d gone.
