My voice was quieter than the wind, but it carried across the still water of the pool.

He stopped, his expensive leather shoes clicking on the wet slate tiles.

Beside him, Mother remained on her knees, her hands covered in white frosting and broken glass.

She did not try to clean it.

She only stared at the red and white ridges on my left side, her mouth trembling.

“Twelve years ago, we lived in the old house on Mercer Hill,” I said to the crowd.

The guests did not move.

Mr. Harrison, our neighbor, slowly lowered his wine glass to his side.

Mrs. Gable covered her neck with her hand, her diamonds catching the late afternoon sun.

“We had a playroom on the second floor,” I said.

“It had green carpet and a wooden toy chest.”

Chloe took a step back, her bare heels touching the very edge of the pool.

“Maya, stop,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Our parents went to the autumn benefit at the country club,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on hers.

“They left us alone.”