The room went silent.
Patricia’s face turned crimson. “What… what is this?” she stammered. “Julia, this is inappropriate,” she hissed, her voice shaking.
“Inappropriate?” I echoed, feigning surprise. “Oh, Patricia, don’t be so sensitive. Isn’t that what you said to me earlier?”
Her face fell as I set the knife gently into her hands.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Everyone’s watching.”
And then, I walked away. We popped champagne in the limo and toasted to freedom.
Some people might say I was petty, but I have no regrets. It wasn’t about plan. It was about reclaiming my day—and my life.
