He grabbed my wrist this time.

His grip was tight, his thumb pressing hard into my bone.

“Give me the microphone, Maya,” he muttered.

“You are ruining your sister’s day.”

“I am ruining your lie,” I said.

I pulled against him, but he was stronger.

He twisted my wrist down.

A sharp squeal of feedback pierced the air as the microphone moved closer to the speakers.

Several guests winced and covered their ears.

Mother ran forward, her high heels clicking frantically on the stone.

“Richard, please, everyone is watching,” she whispered.

Her mascara was starting to run from the heat and the moisture in her eyes.

“Then make her stop,” Father snapped.

He didn’t let go of my wrist.

“Maya, think about what you are doing,” Mother pleaded.

She reached out a hand, her diamond rings catching the glare of the sun.

“We did what we had to do,” she said.

“You did what was easy,” I said into the microphone.

I managed to yank my hand free.

I stepped back, near the edge of the deep end of the pool.