“Leave now,” Stephanie said, louder now, gathering herself, playing to the guests beginning to gather at the edges.

“Or I will have security throw you out into the street where you belong.”

“You don’t have security, Stephanie,” I said, and I did not bother to lower my voice this time.

“You have a catering staff.” I let that sit for a beat.

“And you don’t have a house.

You have a delusion.”

Her mouth opened and nothing came out of it, and in the space of that silence I heard footsteps pounding across the lawn, and there was Steven, running toward us, and I watched the color drain out of my son’s face as he took in the two court officers standing calm and patient behind me in their dark uniforms.

“Mom!” His voice cracked on the word.