She had deliberately copied a dying woman’s last gift to her daughter.
“This is cruel!” Shirley shouted. “You’re humiliating me!”
A woman near the dance floor answered loudly:
“You copied a dead woman’s dress to hurt her daughter.”
Shirley spun toward Dad.
“Thomas! Do something!”
Every person in the room looked at him.
So did I.
For one terrible second, I expected him to defend Shirley again.
Instead, Dad walked toward me.
He removed his jacket and placed it around my shoulders.
Then he looked at Shirley.
“Nobody humiliated you. You did this yourself.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I’m your wife.”
“And Delilah is my daughter.”
Dad’s voice shook.
“I forgot what that meant. I’m not forgetting again.”
I wiped my face.
“I needed you to remember before two hundred people had to show you what she was doing.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
