The water behind me was a bright, artificial blue.

Father took another step toward me, his chest heaving under his white linen shirt.

“You have lived a very comfortable life because of this family,” he said.

His voice was trembling with anger now.

“We gave you everything.”

“You gave me hiding,” I said.

I looked down at my long-sleeved shirt, hot and heavy in the eighty-degree heat.

“You gave me long sleeves in the summer.”

“You gave me the dark corner of every family photo.”

The crowd was entirely still now.

No one was drinking their champagne.

No one was eating the catering.

Dozens of phone screens were raised, capturing every word.

“Maya, stop this,” Chloe said.

Her voice sounded small, stripped of its usual confidence.

“You’re embarrassing us.”

“I am sorry, Chloe,” I said, looking at my sister.

“But you need to know where your life came from.”

Father lunged again.

This time, his shoulder shoved into mine.

I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the edge of a lounge chair.

The microphone slipped from my fingers.

It clattered against the stone floor, sending a harsh thud through the speakers.