I moved from the kitchen to the dining room, my apron stained with gravy, my hands—wrinkled by years of unseen labor—trembling slightly as I held the heavy serving platter.

“Lucy, sit down for a moment,” my cousin Sarah whispered with that condescending smile I knew so well, mistaking my name in her fluster. “You’ve done enough. It’s fine.”

“I’m okay,” I replied, forcing a smile that felt like cracked plaster.

From my position next to the open-plan kitchen counter, I could see the whole dining room. Matthew sat at the head of the table in his white linen shirt and that Rolex watch Audrey had given him last year—using my money, of course. He was talking to his cousin Alex about his latest project, an office building on Park Avenue.