Bernard POV

I slammed my fist against the steering wheel of my beat-up Honda as we pulled into the parking lot of the Grand Sacramento Hotel. My face was still sticky with dried cake frosting, and every time I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw pink icing in my hair. The humiliation burned through my chest like acid.

"This is all your fault, Bernard," my mother said from the passenger seat, her voice sharp with anger. "If you had controlled your wife properly, none of this would have ...