Elena was David’s mother. She was seventy years old, wearing a sensible navy dress she had bought at a department store five years ago. Her hands were calloused from years of gardening and hard work. She looked at the opulence around her not with envy, but with a quiet, deep fatigue.

She had paid for the college degree that got David his job. She had paid for the down payment on his first car. And, though no one in this room knew it, her signature was the invisible foundation upon which this entire glass castle was built.

Her son, David, was standing by the bar, laughing too loudly at a joke told by a man he barely knew. He glanced at his mother once, then quickly looked away, as if making eye contact with her would remind the room of his humble origins.

Elena felt a wave of dizziness. The elevator ride up had been fast, and the noise of the party was overwhelming. Her legs, tired from the long subway ride she had taken to get here—because David hadn’t sent a car—began to tremble.

She needed to sit.

In the center of the sunken living room sat the room’s centerpiece: a massive, curved sectional sofa upholstered in Italian cream leather. It looked less like furniture and more like a sculpture. It was empty.

Elena walked over to it. She moved slowly, her cane tapping softly on the marble floor. With a sigh of relief, she lowered herself onto the plush, pristine leather.

The reaction was instantaneous.

“HEY!”

The scream cut through the ambient jazz music like a siren.

Linda rushed across the room, her heels clacking violently against the stone. She didn’t look concerned. She looked horrified.

“What are you doing?” Linda hissed, arriving at the sofa.

Elena looked up, startled. “I… I just needed to sit for a moment, Linda. I felt a bit faint.”

“Not there!” Linda grabbed Elena’s arm—not to help her, but to pull her up. “Get up! My god!”

Elena struggled to her feet, humiliated as the nearby conversations stopped. The guests turned to watch.

Linda immediately began brushing the spot where Elena had sat, frantically wiping the leather as if Elena had left a stain of contagion.

“This is custom Italian leather, Elena!” Linda scolded, her voice a harsh whisper that carried perfectly in the sudden silence. “It cost fifty thousand dollars! It stains if you even look at it wrong. You’ve been on the subway! You’re covered in… outside dust.”

Elena stood frozen, her face burning. “I am clean, Linda.”

“You look dusty,” Linda snapped. She straightened up and smoothed her dress, offering a tight, fake smile to her watching friends.

She leaned in close to Elena, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss.

“Look, we invited you because David said we had to for appearances. But please, don’t make this awkward. You don’t fit in here. Don’t touch the furniture. Don’t mingle with the investors. Just… stand over there by the kitchen until you’re ready to leave.”

Elena looked at David. He was standing ten feet away. He had seen everything. He saw his wife manhandle his mother. He saw the humiliation.

David took a sip of his drink and turned his back.