“I repotted a few ferns this morning, yes, but I changed—”

“Dust,” Bella interrupted. “Micro-dust. It gets into the fibers. Richard! Richard, come here!”

Richard trotted over, looking nervous. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“Your mother is ruining the aesthetic,” Bella complained, gesturing to me like I was a pile of dirty laundry. “She’s sitting on the showpiece. And look at her… she looks like a librarian.”

“Mom,” Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe you could stand? Or go to the patio? The furniture is… sensitive.”

I looked at my son. The boy I had raised. The boy whose first business failure I had secretly bailed out so he wouldn’t lose his confidence.

“I’m tired, Richard,” I said softly. “My knees.”

“I don’t care about your knees!” Bella shrieked.

She didn’t wait for me to move. She put her hand on my shoulder and shoved.

It wasn’t a gentle nudge. It was a push.

I wasn’t prepared. I slid off the slippery leather and landed hard on the polished concrete floor. My hip bone cracked against the ground. A shock of pain shot up my spine.

The music stopped. The guests nearby gasped.

I lay there on the floor, looking up at my daughter-in-law.