My mother-in-law’s face instantly turned pale. My father-in-law froze with the glass in his hand, the wine trembling, about to spill. The living room fell into such silence that the ticking of the old wall clock could be heard.

“You… understand French?” she managed to whisper, as if desperately looking for an excuse.

I gave a small smile.

“Fluently. And for a long time. And I also understand when someone is trying to humiliate me.”

I turned toward the door and added:

“And yes, even though my parents don’t live in a mansion like this, they respect their guests and don’t mock them in French.”

I walked into the hallway, put my coat over my shoulders, and closed the heavy door behind me. Behind me, I heard my mother-in-law’s nervous, panicked voice — but I no longer cared.