By the time Serena Miller realized that the air-conditioning upstairs had been turned off once again, the back of her silk blouse was already damp with sweat.

Saturday afternoon was magnificent. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue. Serena parked her car a block away from her house, holding a thick manila envelope.

As she walked up the sidewalk, she could hear the party. Jazz music drifted from the backyard. The front doors were thrown wide open. People Serena barely recognized were wandering through her hallways, carrying plates of food, pointing at the antique molding, and admiring the artwork her father had collected in Europe.

She stepped through the front door.

“Excuse me, where is the powder room?” an older woman wearing a bright yellow dress asked her.

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Serena replied smoothly.

She walked into the formal dining room, where Beatrice was holding a glass of champagne, surrounded by Mark, Diane, Aunt Sylvia, and a half-dozen other relatives. Lucas was standing beside his mother, beaming with pride as an uncle clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’ve really outdone yourself, Lucas,” the uncle was saying. “This place is a mansion. You must be doing incredibly well at the firm.”

“Well, you know, hard work pays off,” Lucas said modestly, taking a sip of his beer.

“And Beatrice, darling, the gardens are simply to die for,” Aunt Sylvia gushed.

Beatrice laughed, a high, tinkling sound. “Oh, thank you, Sylvia. Lucas let me have total control of the landscaping. I told him this house needed a woman’s touch to truly make it a home.”

Serena stepped into the archway. “Hello, everyone.”

The laughter died instantly. Beatrice’s face hardened into a mask of pure fury. Lucas went entirely pale, the beer bottle trembling in his hand.

“What are you doing here?” Beatrice demanded, her voice cutting through the soft jazz music. “Lucas said you were out of town for the weekend.”

“Did he?” Serena walked slowly to the head of the dining table. The relatives watched in awkward, suffocating silence.

“Serena, please,” Lucas hissed, stepping forward. “We talked about this. You said you were going to stay away.”

“I changed my mind,” Serena said, her voice carrying clearly through the room. “I decided I didn't want to miss the celebration.”

Beatrice slammed her champagne glass onto the table. “You have ruined everything! This is my family’s day! How dare you walk into my son’s house and disrupt us!”

Serena looked at the manila envelope in her hands. Then, she looked at Lucas.

“Your son’s house, Beatrice?” Serena asked, tilting her head.

“Yes! My son’s house!” Beatrice shrieked, losing whatever poise she had maintained. “The house he pays for! The house he provides for you! You are nothing but an ungrateful, spiteful woman who doesn't appreciate the life he has given you!”