“I’m here to see the Thornberry family,” I answered. “They’re celebrating their wedding anniversary.”
He checked the list on his clipboard.
“Yes, they’re in the main hall. Are you…?” He hesitated, looking at me questioningly.
“I’m Wesley Thornberry’s mother,” I said firmly. “Edith Thornberry.”
“Oh. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Thornberry.” He became more respectful at once. “Please come in. Your family is already here.”
My family, I thought bitterly as I entered the restaurant’s spacious lobby.
The family that doesn’t want to see me.
A family that lies to my face.
But in just a moment, they will see me.
And it’s a night they’ll remember for a long time.
Because Edith Thornberry is not the kind of woman you can just throw out of your life like an old unwanted thing.
And it’s time my children realize that.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and strode resolutely toward the main hall doors.
Standing at the main hall doors, I stood still for a moment.
The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the sounds of merriment came even through the heavy oak doors.
Just one step and I’d ruin their perfect evening.
Should I do it?
Should I turn around and walk away with what little dignity I had left?
But something inside me—some steel thread running through my life—wouldn’t let me do it.
I’m not one to back down. I never have been.
Even when George died, leaving me alone with huge medical bills, I didn’t give up.
I didn’t ask my kids for help, even though I could have.
I did it on my own.
I can handle it now.
But I wasn’t going to burst in there like a fury.
No, that would have been too easy and predictable.
I wanted this evening to be a lesson to them.
A lesson they would never forget.
“Mrs. Thornberry.”
A voice behind me made me flinch.
I turned around.
Standing in front of me was a tall man in his sixties with a neatly trimmed gray beard and attentive gray eyes. He wore an impeccably tailored dark suit with a small gold pin in the shape of a willow branch—the restaurant symbol.
“Lewis?” I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Lewis Quinnland.
In person?
He smiled, bowing slightly.
“I’m glad to see you remember me.”
“How could I forget?” I said, though it wasn’t true. The boy had grown into an imposing man. Time had left marks on his face, but his eyes—his eyes were the same.
“But you, Edith, have become even more beautiful,” he replied with that special gallantry that didn’t sound false. “Blue has always been your color.”
I touched the pearl necklace involuntarily.
For the first time all evening, I did not feel like an angry old woman, but just a woman.
“Are you alone?” Lewis asked, glancing around the hall. “I thought you were coming with your son and his family. They’re celebrating their anniversary today, aren’t they?”
“Oh, so you know about that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Of course. I was personally involved in organizing their party. Thirty years is a big deal. I wanted it to be perfect.”
I felt a lump come up in my throat.
Lewis must have noticed the change in my face because his smile was replaced by a look of concern.
“Is something wrong, Edith?”
I wanted to lie—to say that nothing was wrong, that I was just late—but somehow I couldn’t.
There were too many lies in that story already.
“I wasn’t invited, Lewis,” I said quietly. “My son told me that the dinner had been cancelled because his wife was ill. But I found out the truth by accident.”
There was such genuine indignation on Lewis’s face that I felt a surge of gratitude.
“There must be some mistake,” he said firmly. “There must be a misunderstanding. Wesley couldn’t—”
“He could,” I interrupted him. “And he did. I’ve seen them all through the window. They’re having a great time without me.”
Lewis frowned, his eyes darkening.
“This is unacceptable,” he said in a tone that brooked no objection. “Absolutely unacceptable.”
He offered me his hand.
“Let me show you in, Edith. The mother of the guest of honor should not stand in the hall.”
I hesitated.
It’s one thing to have a confrontation and quite another to drag a stranger into it.
“Lewis, I don’t want to cause problems for your restaurant.”
“The only problem here is your lack of respect for your parents,” he said, cutting me off. “My restaurant is not a place where I would allow that.”
He offered me his hand again, and this time I took it.
His touch was warm and sure, like an anchor in a stormy sea.
“How do you want to do this?” Lewis asked when we stopped at the hall door. “Just walk in, or I could organize something special.”
I hesitated.
I didn’t feel like making a scene. I didn’t feel like yelling or crying or blaming.
That would be too easy, too.
They probably thought that if I found out the truth, I’d either burst into tears or cause a scandal. Either way, I could be accused of inadequacy, of senile hysteria.
No. I won’t give them that pleasure.
“I want to go in quietly,” I said, “like the honored guest I was supposed to be. No announcements, no fanfare—just show up.”
Lewis nodded understandingly.
“The perfect choice. Elegance is always more effective than drama.”
He squeezed my hand lightly.
“Ready?”
I took a deep breath and nodded.
“Ready.”
Lewis opened the doors and we entered the hall.
The first thing I noticed was the abundance of flowers—white and cream roses, lilies, orchids.
They were everywhere.
In tall vases on the tables, in garlands on the walls, even coming down from the ceiling, giving the impression of a blooming garden.
The soft light of the crystal chandeliers reflected in the silverware and crystal, creating an almost magical atmosphere.
My family’s table was in the center of the room. It was round, decorated especially lavishly, with a birthday cake in the middle.
Wesley sat at the head wearing a dark gray suit I’d never seen before.
Next to him was Kora in an elegant burgundy dress with a new necklace around her neck—apparently an anniversary gift.
Thelma and her husband, and Reed and Audrey, and a few other people I didn’t know.
They didn’t notice us right away. They were too caught up in the toast Wesley was giving—something about love overcoming all odds, about family values and mutual support.
Lewis led me straight to their table.
We walked slowly with dignity. I could feel the stares of the other visitors, but I paid no attention to them.
All my attention was on my family.
Reed noticed me first. His eyes widened in surprise, and he jerked as if he wanted to get up, but something stopped him.
Then Audrey, who was sitting next to him. She turned pale and tugged on Reed’s sleeve.
Wesley was still talking, not noticing the change in the atmosphere.
But then Thelma looked up, and her hand holding her glass froze halfway.
One by one they noticed me.
Their faces changed—surprise, confusion, and then fear.
Yes, fear.
They were afraid of the scene, of the scandal, of being embarrassed in front of the other guests.
Finally, Wesley, sensing the tension, turned around.
“And that’s why I want to say—” his voice trailed off when he saw me.
Lewis stepped forward.
“I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Thornberry.” His voice was impeccably polite, but with a note of steel. “It seems your mother was a little late for the celebration. I took the liberty of escorting her to your table.”
There was silence—a silence so thick you could touch it.
All eyes were on us.
“Mom,” Wesley finally squeezed out. His face was as white as a tablecloth. “But you… you said you’d stay home.”
“I changed my mind,” I said calmly. “I decided I wanted to congratulate my son and daughter-in-law on thirty years of marriage. It’s an important date.”
Lewis pulled a chair back for me between Reed and a middle-aged woman I didn’t recognize—apparently one of Kora’s friends.
“Thank you, Lewis,” I said, sitting down.
“Always at your service, Edith,” he said with a slight bow. Then he turned to the others. “I’ll have another appetizer brought in, and perhaps a bottle of our best champagne on the house, of course.”
With these words, he departed, leaving us in a heavy silence.
