“Keep your voice down,” my father warned, his teeth clenched.

“No!” Chloe yelled.

The music suddenly felt incredibly loud and inappropriate.

Several guests had stopped talking now, openly staring at our corner of the patio.

“You let Maya suffer,” Chloe said, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. “You made her feel like she was a burden. You made her hide her body.”

“We had to protect the family,” my father said. “If the truth came out, we would have lost the insurance money. I would have gone to prison. What kind of life would you have had then?”

“A real one,” I said.

I looked at my mother, who was still crying silently.

I looked at my father, who still held his glass of scotch, his knuckles white around the crystal.

Then I looked at Chloe.

“I’m leaving,” I said.

“Maya, wait,” Chloe said, reaching out to grab my hand.

I let her take it. Her hand was warm and soft, completely unlike mine.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” I said to her.

“Where will you go?” she asked.