— He wanted to see how you were doing.
— Mom, I don’t want anything to do with any of them. If he calls again, tell him I moved across the country or that I’m dead! — Vera had snapped before retreating to her room.
The truth was, John had always been quietly kind to her, but the social gap felt impossible to bridge. She was the “Scarecrow,” and he was the golden boy of a medical dynasty. To his credit, he never joined in the bullying, but he never stopped it either. He didn’t have the nerve to stand up to Al and the others.
Now, Vera looked around the table at these people and felt that old familiar sting. Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned. But she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. She wasn’t going to cry over a group of middle-aged snobs bragging about their jewelry. She reached for her glass, intending to say something, when suddenly the entire restaurant went pitch black.
A murmur of annoyance rippled through the room, cut short by a sharp, authoritative voice from the hallway:
— Mr. Henderson, I need an explanation for this immediately.
— We’re having an issue with the main breaker again, ma’am…
— I told you last month to have the electrical team overhaul that system!
— They did, Mrs. Page. It looks like a transformer blew down the block.
— What if we had a wedding reception in here tonight? I’ve told you before: I don’t pay for “maybe.” What’s the status of the backup?
— Mrs. Page, if I could just…
— Get the generator running now. Then meet me in my office in ten minutes. Go.
The lights flickered and surged back to life. A heavy silence fell over the table. Every head turned toward Vera, who was calmly taking a bite of her salad as if nothing had happened.
— Vera? — Al stared at her, his jaw literally hanging open. — Was that… was that you?
