“Oh, let me do that, darling,” Devika says, plucking the card from my hand before I can stop her. “A gift from mother to daughter. It’s the least I can do.”
She signs the receipt with a flourish, and I wait for her to hand the card back.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she slides it into her Chanel bag with practiced ease, like it belongs there, like it was always hers.
“Mother,” I say slowly. “I need the card back.”
“What card, darling?” She’s already gathering her shopping bags, not looking at me.
“Knox’s card. The one you just used. And put in your purse.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I gave it back to you.” She finally meets my eyes, and her expression is pure innocence. “You must have put it somewhere and forgotten. You always were forgetful, even as a child.”
The gaslightin
