And then I set the boundary, the one I should have set years earlier, the one my daughter’s tears the night before had finally made unavoidable.

“Gwen is no longer welcome in my home,” I said.

“She is not to come near my children.

She is not to attend any family function that I attend.

I am done managing her, and making excuses for her, and putting her feelings ahead of my own children’s safety.

And there is one more thing, and I need you to make sure she understands it.

If Gwen ever, ever again says a single word to Maya about her skin, I will take every one of those photographs, the wallet and the vape and the man behind the cabana, and I will post them publicly, on the very Instagram page she cares about more than she has ever cared about this family.” It was not a threat I enjoyed making.