“Chloe, darling,” Mother said, moving toward her.

“Don’t touch me,” Chloe said, flinching away from Mother’s hand.

Chloe looked at the guests across the yard, who were now turning their heads toward us.

The music had stopped playing.

The silence of the yard was absolute, broken only by the sound of the wind in the trees.

“Is this why we never talked about it?” Chloe asked, her eyes fixed on Father. “Is this why you wouldn’t let me ask about her scars?”

Father did not answer.

His face had turned a deep, mottled red, his breathing heavy.

“Answer her,” I said.

“I did what I had to do to keep us afloat,” Father said, his voice hard. “You would be nothing without my money, Chloe. You would not have your school, your car, your future.”

Chloe stared at him, her lips parting in horror.

“I don’t want it,” Chloe said.

“Do not be foolish,” Father said. “You like your life.”

“My life is a lie,” Chloe screamed, the sound tearing through the quiet afternoon.

Several guests at the far end of the pool stopped talking, their glasses hovering mid-air.