The gasps moved across the room in a wave.

Kingston lunged for the microphone.

“He doesn’t understand what he’s—” “I understand enough,” Otis said, not loudly, and something in the quiet of it stopped his father’s hand in the air.

“You hurt her.

And then you stood up in front of everyone and laughed about it.” That was the thing that landed hardest, harder than any photograph.

Not the affair.