I Just Wanted my Mom

Daniel

When I walked into the fundraiser, the place reeked of bullshit and money, champagne flutes clinking, tuxedos trying too hard, and fake laughter echoing under chandeliers that probably cost more than most people make in a year.

I scanned the room with the kind of patience that usually means trouble.

Lilian was at the far end of the ballroom, coiled around Oliver, our gracious host and decrepit pervert-in-residence. Her laughter was a little too loud, her hand a little too familiar on his arm. Typically, I didn’t care. Not about her, not anymore. That bridge had burned so long ago, the ashes didn’t even remember the fire. But then I looked again, and my eyes locked on Eden across the room and some man. His hand was on her ass, gripping her so hard.

She stood frozen, like a rabbit caught in the open; she was scared and ashamed, trying to disappear. I didn’t think. No man in his right senses needed to.

“Get your filthy hand off her,” I growled, loud enough to cut through the music