I need to describe what that laughter did to me, because it is the hinge the whole night turns on.

It was not that Kingston insulted me; he had insulted me many times, in private, in that same reasonable voice.

It was that a room full of people I had fed and hosted and stood beside laughed — easily, warmly, without a flicker of hesitation — at the idea that I was trash to be cleared out.

In that sound I heard the full success of his two-year campaign.

He had not just left me; he had convinced an entire world that leaving me was a thing to celebrate, and here was the world, celebrating, with the string quartet and the white roses and their glasses raised.

Something in me went very small and very cold.