your mother, Victoria.”
Victoria flushed slightly at the direct reference.
“I never asked for—”
“No, you didn’t,” I said. “But you did comment during your first visit that the original kitchen was ‘charmingly retro.’ By which you meant outdated. Within a week, Amber was begging me for money to remodel it.”
I turned to my daughter, whose tears had given way to a kind of numb shock.
“Amber, for years I’ve watched you contort yourself to meet the Prescotts’ expectations—changing how you dress, how you speak, even rewriting your personal
