Patricia groaned at the ceiling. “She’s making it up. You know how children exaggerate when they want attention.”

I looked at my daughter — the scuffed knees, the trembling lip, the small apologetic voice that had been begging forgiveness the whole walk to the restaurant.

Then I looked back at the head of the table.

“No,” I said, and my voice dropped. “You do not get to call my daughter a liar to save your ego.”

A waiter approached, took one look at table seven, and turned around.

Patricia shoved her chair back, the legs screeching on the tile. “I will not sit here and be publicly humiliated by my own family.”