Chapter 3

The caterer's van was already blocking half the driveway when I reached the house.

Two servers carried trays through the front door. Blue-and-silver balloons pulled against the mailbox, and the string lights I had hung across the backyard were already glowing in the late afternoon shade.

I told myself I had come for my passport, work laptop, and professional license.

Then Grant's sister walked through the door with a wrapped gift.

"Camille, everything looks beautiful."

The flowers I had chosen filled the entryway. My handwritten table cards stood beside the unopened champagne, and the memory wall I had assembled stretched across the living room.

Grant came in through the garage with Wren and Elise.

He handed Elise's camera bag to her before looking at me.

"The caterer needs to know when to bring out the cake."

"The caterer has your number."

"You made the schedule."

"I am not running this party."

A guest approached Grant to congratulate him. He turned away before answering me.

I went upstairs.

My passport was in the bedroom safe. My license and laptop were in the study. I slipped them into a tote and pulled the zipper closed.

Grant was standing at the bottom of the stairs when I came down.

His eyes dropped to the passport still visible beside my laptop.

"Are you leaving?"

Before I could answer, the catering manager called his name from the kitchen.

Grant looked toward the sound, then back at my bag.

"I need to deal with this."

He walked away.

"Camille?"

Elise stood in the hallway. She had changed into a pale blue dress and pinned up her hair. Her camera hung from one shoulder.

"Grant said the cake should come out now. Could you bring it?"

I looked at her.

"You want me to serve cake at the party I planned for the daughter you left?"

Her fingers tightened around the camera strap.

"I was trying to keep things normal for Wren."

"Nothing about this is normal."

Voices rose from the living room. Wren had entered with several friends.

Elise's attention shifted immediately.

She moved toward the memory wall and lifted her camera.

"Wren, stand by the photographs. The light is better there."

The wall held twelve years of her childhood.

Wren missing both front teeth. Wren asleep against my shoulder after her first school play. Wren gripping my hand outside the emergency room after her first severe allergic reaction.

Grant stepped beside Wren. Elise adjusted the angle, then one of the guests reached for the camera.

"Elise, get in there. You should be in the family picture."

Elise hesitated only a second before handing it over.

Wren moved closer to Grant and left space on her other side. Elise filled it.

Her shoulder covered part of the photograph from Wren's first day of middle school.

One of our neighbors leaned toward me.

"It's wonderful that Wren's mother came back for this."

"Her mother has been here for every birthday since she was six."

The woman looked from me to Elise. "I meant..."

"I know."

Across the room, Grant gave me a warning look.

The caterer rolled out the cake I had ordered. The silver lettering matched the table cards beside it.

"Where's the knife?" someone asked.

Grant pointed toward me without leaving the photograph.

"Camille knows."

The guest holding Elise's camera waved me aside.

"Camille, could you move a little? I can't get the whole family."

I stepped away from the memory wall.

Elise leaned toward Wren. Grant's arm settled around both of them.

Behind me, a server asked whether I wanted to authorize another hour for the bar.

I looked at the family photograph forming in front of the childhood I had helped create.

Then I picked up a spoon and tapped it against a champagne glass.

The room quieted.

"Before we cut the cake, I should clear up some confusion."

Grant's face changed.

"Elise is Wren's biological mother. She is also the woman my husband has been seeing behind my back for the past six months."

Someone near the patio doors gasped.

Wren stared at me.

"Camille," Grant warned.

"The party belongs to you now."

I called the catering manager over and told her no additional drinks, overtime, or cleaning charges were authorized on my card. Then I placed the remaining vendor invoices beside Grant's glass.

My house key went next to the cake knife.

"I've spent eleven years making this family look effortless," I said. "You can handle the rest of tonight."

I picked up my tote and walked out.

Grant did not follow me.

The front door opened just as I reached my car.

Wren ran into the driveway, still wearing her graduation gown.

"What gives you the right to act like you're the victim?"