I called the phone company and changed Daisy’s number that hour. Then I called her school. I updated the emergency contact list with a specific note: Under no circumstances are the following individuals allowed contact with my child. I listed them all. It felt like filing a restraining order against my own history.
But the universe has a twisted sense of humor. Just as I was fortifying the walls, the Trojan Horse arrived.
I was scheduled to receive the Innovator of the Year award at the the State Business Gala. It was a big deal—black tie, press coverage, the kind of validation my mother would kill for.
Three days before the event, my assistant, Sarah, walked into my office. She looked uncomfortable.
“Erica,” she said, holding a printout. “We got an email for the event coordinator. It was forwarded to us.”
I took the paper. It was from Phyllis.
“To the Event Committee: I am Erica’s mother. Our family will be attending to support her on this momentous night. Please ensure we are seated in the VIP Family Section near the stage. We are so proud of her.”
I stared at the paper. The hypocrisy was so thick I could almost taste it. They weren’t coming to support me. They were coming to be photographed. They had heard about the award, seen the articles, and realized that the “lowly single mom” was now a valuable asset. They wanted to rewrite history. They wanted to pretend they had been cheering from the sidelines all along.
“What do you want to do?” Sarah asked. “Should I tell security to bar them?”
I looked at the email, then at the photo of Daisy on my desk. If I barred them, they would play the victim. They would tell everyone I was the cruel daughter keeping them away.
“No,” I said slowly, a plan forming in the back of my mind. “Let them come.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said, pulling up a file on my computer named Receipts. “But reply to the coordinator. Tell them that the VIP section is strictly for people who have supported the nominee’s journey. Tell them my family is welcome to attend… as general admission.”
Cliffhanger:
Sarah nodded and left. I sat back in my chair, looking at the blinking cursor on my speech draft. I had planned a standard, humble acceptance speech. But looking at my mother’s email, I realized that humility was a luxury I couldn’t afford. They were walking into a trap, but they were arrogant enough to think it was a red carpet. I deleted the speech. I started typing a new one. And this time, I wasn’t leaving anything out.
Chapter 3: The Gala of Wolves
The ballroom was a cavern of crystal and velvet, smelling of expensive perfume and ambition. I stood near the stage, smoothing the silk of my emerald gown. Daisy was next to me, looking like a rock star in a fitted tuxedo jacket and combat boots. She squeezed my hand.
“You look fierce, Mom,” she whispered.
“You look ready,” I replied.
