Chapter 3: What the Phone Screen Said
Adrian crossed the room.
Patrice didn't pull the phone back.
She held it steady, screen facing up, and let him read.
The message was from Camille.
Sent to a group that included Patrice, Daniel, and four other guests.
Sent three hours before the party started.
*Just a reminder — tonight is adults only.
If Naomi comes downstairs, please don't engage.
It makes things easier for everyone.
Thank you.*
Adrian read it twice.
Then he looked up at Camille.
Camille had already composed herself.
Her expression was careful, neutral, the face of a woman preparing a reasonable explanation for an unreasonable thing.
"That message is being taken out of context."
"Out of context," Adrian said.
"Yes.
I was trying to manage the dynamic.
You know how she can make things awkward."
"How she can make things awkward."
"Adrian, stop repeating everything I say."
"Then say something I can understand." His voice was still quiet.
That was the part that unsettled people most — he hadn't raised it once.
"You sent a message to our guests telling them to ignore my daughter."
The word landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
Several guests shifted.
Someone near the hallway set down their glass very carefully.
Naomi still hadn't moved from the bottom of the stairs.
Camille recovered quickly.
"She's your daughter from a previous relationship.
These are our friends.
Our life.
I was protecting the energy of the evening."
"You were protecting the evening," Adrian said, "from a nineteen-year-old girl in her favorite sweater who wanted to say hello to people she's known for years."
"She doesn't fit into every situation—"
"This is her home."
"Adrian—"
"She has lived in this house for four years." His voice dropped even lower.
"And you sent a message to our guests — in advance — telling them to treat her like she wasn't supposed to be here."
Camille's chin lifted again.
"I did what I thought was best."
Daniel spoke from across the room, not loudly.
"Camille, it wasn't just the message.
Last time, when you told her to wait upstairs — she was up there for two hours.
We didn't know.
We thought she'd gone to bed." He paused.
"We found out afterward because she mentioned it to Patrice at the grocery store.
By accident.
She didn't even know we hadn't been told she was up there."
The room absorbed that.
Naomi kept her eyes on the floor.
Adrian turned to look at her.
Really look at her.
The sweater she'd chosen carefully.
The way she was standing.
The way she wasn't crying, wasn't shouting, wasn't asking for anything at all.
"Naomi," he said.
She looked up.
"How long has this been going on?"
A beat of silence.
"Dad—"
"How long?"
Her mouth pressed together for a moment.
Then she said, very quietly:
"Since the first month you got married."
Camille stepped forward.
"That is completely exaggerated—"
"Is it?" Adrian said.
He didn't look away from Naomi.
"Has she ever told you to leave a room before tonight?"
Naomi looked at Camille once.
Then back at her father.
She nodded.
"When?"
"When it was just us," Naomi said.
"When you weren't home.
She'd tell me the kitchen was hers in the evening.
Or the living room.
That I should give her space." A pause.
"I thought maybe she just needed time to adjust.
I kept waiting for it to get better."
Camille turned on her.
"You're twisting this.
You've always been difficult.
You've made it impossible for me to feel like this is my home—"
"This was her home first," Adrian said.
Silence.
Camille blinked.
Adrian turned fully toward his wife.
"She moved in here when she was fifteen.
She grew up in this house.
You moved in three years ago." He stopped.
"You sent a message to our friends telling them to ignore my daughter in the home she grew up in.
And your explanation is that she makes things awkward."
Camille's composure cracked at the edges.
"You're embarrassing me in front of everyone."
"You did that yourself," Daniel said quietly from across the room.
Camille looked at him sharply.
Then she looked around at the other guests.
At Patrice, who hadn't lowered her phone.
At the couple near the hallway, who were watching without pretending not to.
At the older woman by the kitchen who had set her plate down several minutes ago and not picked it up again.
Nobody moved to her side.
She turned back to Adrian.
"We will discuss this privately.
Not here.
Not like this."
"You made it public when you sent that message," Adrian said.
"You made it public tonight when you stepped in front of her."
He walked back to where Naomi was standing.
He put his arm around her shoulder.
She went very still for just a moment — the way someone does when they've stopped expecting comfort and suddenly receive it.
Then her breath let go.
Camille watched the two of them and said nothing.
But her hand, resting at her side, closed into a fist.
May you like
And Patrice, still near the window, was looking at something else on her phone now.
Something she hadn't shown anyone yet.
