At my seventieth birthday dinner, my son set a bowl of dog food before me and laughed, “That’s all you deserve now, Mom.” A single candle leaned from the brown chunks as his wife, Kelsey, and six friends burst into laughter around the private dining room.
For one second, humiliation stole my breath. I expected cruelty from Derek, but not a performance like this. He had placed a glittery paper hat over my silver hair, booked the room with my credit card, and invited people who had spent years drinking my wine and vacationing in my homes.
