For floral arrangements.
She had literally traded my son’s ability to breathe for party flowers.
When I messaged my mother, she responded within minutes: Please don’t start a conflict today. Ava only turns sixteen once.
I sat with that text on my screen for sixty seconds of perfect clarity.
Then, I took Noah by the hand and drove straight to the party.
The ballroom at the St. Regis was exactly what Lauren had envisioned—laser lights, fog machines, thumping bass, and hundreds of guests.
At the check-in desk, staff were handing out VIP wristbands and luxury gift bags to all the cousins.
When the coordinator reached Noah, she paused. She saw Lauren standing behind us, shaking her head.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said in a hushed tone. “These are reserved for family only.”
Noah blinked at her from behind his glasses.
“I am family,” he said quietly.
Lauren suddenly appeared at our side, her laughter loud and performative. “Oh, the hoodies are only for the older children, sweetie.”
All around us, the other cousins were already zipping up their matching, high-end sweatshirts.
My mother brushed past me and whispered, “Don’t you dare make a scene. This is Ava’s special night.”
