Guests turned their heads to watch. It was Vivian’s extravagant birthday gala in the Hamptons—politicians, businessmen, socialites—people who smiled with their teeth but never their hearts.

Vivian leaned in close, her sharp perfume invading the air. “Don’t call me Mom,” she hissed, her voice low enough only Lena could hear. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Lena was only six. Her legs had been paralyzed since the yacht accident that took her real mother. She felt so small, invisible, trapped.

A laugh rang out from the crowd.

“Poor thing,” Vivian’s sister Clara muttered under her breath. “She’s such a burden.”

Lena swallowed, her throat tight. She hadn’t meant to cause trouble. All she had wanted was some water. But her wheelchair had caught on the edge of a tablecloth. That was when Vivian grabbed the ladle. On purpose.

And then— BANG.