“I spoke about the future of Solar Reach,” I said. “And the responsibilities of our generation.”

“You stood on that stage and practically begged for pity,” she said.

Her mouth tightened into a thin, pale line.

“You made your father and me look like monsters who starved you of support.”

“I spoke the truth about how hard the early years were,” I said.

“The truth is whatever you decide to parade in front of strangers for applause,” she retorted.

She crossed her arms, her pearl bracelet clicking against her gold watch.

“You have always had a theatrical streak, Sarah.”

“It wasn’t theater, Mother.”

“It was embarrassing,” she said.

The fire in the hearth crackled, a small pocket of sap exploding behind the screen.

My father took a slow, deliberate sip of his sherry.

“Helen, please,” he murmured. “The girl just gave a major address.”

“And she used it to drag our name through the mud,” Helen said, ignoring him entirely.

She kept her eyes locked on mine.

“You spoke as if you built that company in a vacuum, with no family, no backing.”