“You Don’t Fit This Event.”
I told her I came to surprise her.
I lifted the gift bag like proof that my intentions were good.
She looked me over — my Sunday dress, my neat shoes, the blanket I’d made stitch by stitch — and her face tightened.
She said Preston’s parents were inside.
She said they would ask questions.
She said I didn’t “fit” this event.
Preston appeared behind her, jaw tight, and said two words that told me everything:
“Handle this.”
Then a man in a dark suit stepped forward, polite and firm.
“Ma’am, please come with me.”
