Clara calmly stepped out from the shadows of the pavilion, the soft ocean breeze catching her dress. At the sight of her, the assistant completely panicked, knocked over her chair, and fled into the night in pure, unadulterated mortification. Marcus collapsed forward out of his seat, practically dropping to his knees. He began stammering, his voice cracking as he reached out toward his parents.
“Mom, Dad, please… it’s not what it looks like. It was just a misunderstanding. Clara, honey, listen to me—” His desperate pleading was cut short. His mother walked up to him, her face contorted in a mixture of absolute rage and profound disgust. Before Marcus could utter another syllable, she raised her hand and delivered a resounding, echoing slap across his face that seemed to shake the entire pavilion.
Marcus gasped, clutching his reddening cheek, looking up at his mother in absolute shock. His father simply turned his back on him, refusing to even look at the man he had once been so proud of.