Gasps like glass. Cassandra’s smile cracked. Her father rose in outrage; servers froze mid-pour.

Liam’s voice found steel. “You mocked the only person who has loved me without transaction—who fed me, raised me, believed in me when it was inconvenient. That quilt holds my history. You laughed at it. You laughed at us. Keep the gifts, the venue, the fireworks. I won’t build a life on contempt.”

He turned, still holding my hand. “Come on, Nana. Let’s go home.”

Home, Where Value Lives

We drove with the quilt folded like a flag in my lap. In my driveway under a faithful oak, I tried to hand him a way back. “You’re emotional. Talk to her tomorrow.”