“Do you have any idea how much this wedding costs?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I’m not asking for money.”
“Then why are you carrying that filthy bag?”
“It’s something for Noah.”
Claire’s expression hardened.
“Don’t say his name like you own him.”
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“I don’t own him. I’m his mother.”
Claire gave a short laugh.
“A mother who shows up dressed like a homeless woman?”
The words landed harder than the water.
Margaret had spent most of her life working as a cleaner at a small hospital outside Asheville.
She had scrubbed floors, changed linens, and worked overnight shifts to support her only child.
Her hands were swollen from arthritis.
Her back had grown crooked after decades of physical labor.
But the old woman had never considered herself poor in the ways that mattered.
Not until that moment.
Not until a stranger wearing a dress worth more than Margaret earned in a year looked at her with such open contempt.
“Please,” Margaret repeated. “Just tell Noah I’m here.”
Claire raised the hose again.
“I told you to leave.”
The water struck Margaret’s face.
She cried out and turned away.
The cloth bag slipped from her fingers.
Something inside hit the stone pathway with a hollow wooden sound.
Then a man’s voice thundered from the terrace.
“CLAIRE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Every head turned.
Noah Hale stood at the top of the marble steps, wearing a black tuxedo with a white rose pinned to his lapel.
