My brother ordered my eight-year-old son a dry hot dog while his own kids sliced into $120 steaks. Then my mother glanced at me and muttered, “You really should have brought something for him to eat.” My son dropped his gaze and whispered, “I’m not hungry, Mom.” He was. And as everyone else went back to their overpriced dinners, I saw the waiter walking over with yet another bottle of wine. That was the moment I stood up. “Before dessert comes out,” I announced, “I have something to say.”

Marcus’s jaw clenched.

Dad looked at him.

“You told me you gave them your card.”

“I meant to.”

I turned to the manager.

“What exactly was added to the bill?”

She tapped her screen.

“Prime cuts for the adults, four premium wine tiers, a seafood appetizer course, a customized fondant cake, and truffle side dishes.”

“And what about my son’s meal?”

Ms. Sterling scrolled down.

“One of the children’s steak dinners was modified this afternoon to a hot dog from the bar menu.”

You could hear a pin drop in that room.

I glared at Marcus.

“You canceled Leo’s steak?”

He threw his hands up.

“The total was getting ridiculous! And he barely eats.”

“You were the one on the hook for the extra costs.”

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