My blood boiled. “She’s six,” I snapped. “It’s Halloween, not an art exhibit! She was excited to be here and you just humiliated her.”
Evelyn gave a tiny, condescending smile. “Some of us simply have higher standards.”
“Higher standards?” I repeated, my voice shaking. “You excluded a child because her costume wasn’t creative enough? You think that makes you superior?”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed under her breath, darting a glance at the watching parents. “This isn’t the place.”
“Then where is the place, Evelyn?” I said, louder now. “Because you made your place pretty clear when you told my daughter she wasn’t good enough for your perfect little party.”
The other adults had gone quiet. A few of them turned away, pretending to check on their kids, but I could feel their attention.
Evelyn’s mask cracked just a little. “You’re overreacting,” she muttered. “She’ll forget it by tomorrow.”
“She might,” I said evenly, “but I won’t.”
Michael stepped closer. “Mom, you owe Amelia an apology. Right now.”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t apologize for having standards.”
He shook his head slowly. “Then don’t expect us to keep pretending you have class.”
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