“She is spreading lies about all of us to those people,” I said, my voice tight.

“She is telling them I stole you from her.” “I know she is,” Samantha said.

“Then why are we standing here doing nothing?” I demanded, under my breath.

And Samantha looked, not at Laura, but across the room toward the gift table, where a plain white box sat quietly waiting, tied with a satin ribbon.

“Because this time,” she said, “we are not going to answer a lie with useless anger.

Anger is what she wants; anger makes you look exactly like the bitter man she’s describing.