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.”
