His face was red, and his signet ring clicked against his scotch glass as he walked.

“Enjoying your dinner by the dishwashing station, Evelyn?” Gerald asked.

“The service was very quiet,” I said.

Gerald leaned closer, his raspy breath heavy with scotch.

“Look around this hallway.

Every single person in that room knows what you are.

A failure who walked away fifteen years ago and came back looking for pity.”

“I remember who changed the locks on Main Street, Gerald,” I said, my voice quiet and steady.