“He’ll recover.”

“You told Sailor to do it.”

He never denied it. Instead he turned to Kobe. “Maybe this teaches him that every day doesn’t have to revolve around making him feel special.”

Kobe froze. Gage always knew exactly which words would leave a lasting mark; he’d practiced that on me for more than thirty years.

“You work at an animal clinic,” he went on. “You spend your money pretending everything’s perfect because Kobe doesn’t have a father in the house. Maybe if you built a real career instead of booking appointments at the dog place, you wouldn’t need parties like this.”

Several parents were still close enough to hear every word. That was exactly what Gage wanted. Humiliating me never satisfied him unless people watched.