The wine struck my mother’s white blouse first, then splashed across my father’s face beneath the chandelier.

Before either of them could even stand, my sister-in-law Madison threw back her head and laughed.

Almost everyone at my husband’s family table joined her.

I didn’t.

My mother, Elena, sat frozen, red wine dripping from her hair. My father, a retired school principal who had worn his only tailored suit because he wanted to “look respectable” for the Harringtons’ anniversary dinner, quietly removed his glasses and wiped them with a napkin.

Madison loosely held the empty crystal goblet between two fingers.

“Oops,” she said. “Guess some people just don’t belong around expensive things.”

Her mother snorted.

My husband’s uncle smirked.

Even his father muttered, “Relax. It’s only wine.”

I looked at Daniel.

My husband was staring at his plate.

That hurt more than Madison’s insult.