“You’re trying to save your image,” Derek said.

My mother looked at Derek, then back at me.

She waited for one of us to soften, to apologize, or to ask for her approval the way we had done our entire lives.

Neither of us moved.

The silence stretched between us, thick and cold.

My father looked down at his shoes, completely detached from the confrontation.

My mother’s face hardened into a mask of cold anger as she realized her influence over us had completely dissolved.

Her words had no power here.

“Fine,” she said, her voice freezing over. “If you want to ruin your lives, I won’t stay to watch.”

She turned on her heel, her coat flaring out.

“George, we’re leaving,” she said.

My father hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at me with a faint, sad expression.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it.

He turned and followed her out the door.

The glass door clicked shut behind them.

“Well,” Derek said, his voice quiet. “That happened.”

“We don’t have time to dwell on it,” I said, checking my watch. “We have fifteen minutes.”