For twelve years, I had heard don’t make a scene and gone quiet, and covered myself, and protected the people who were, at that very moment, using my silence against me.

Jessica tilted her head, enjoying it.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked.

She knew what.

Since we were teenagers, she had called me Frankenstein when our parents were not listening, and sometimes when they were and only pretended not to hear.

Her fiance, Adam, smirked beside the pool.

“We’re all family here.” “No,” I said quietly.

“Most of these people are strangers.” Jessica laughed.