“She probably forgot,” Ryan said, not looking up from his phone.

Maya stood beside the bed with her pale blue dress still in its garment sleeve. “She forgot to include your wife in the family photo plan?”

Ryan sighed. “Don’t start before the trip.”

So Maya didn’t start. She put on the dress. She curled her hair. She fastened the small earrings her mother had bought her the year Maya closed her first major deal.

In the van, Ashley was already drinking champagne though it was barely afternoon. Linda sat in the second row like a woman being escorted to a throne.

Ryan squeezed Maya’s hand once as they pulled away from the house — the kind of gesture that used to make her hopeful. Now it felt like a receipt for affection he’d later claim he had paid.