Brent released Emily’s hair so quickly that she nearly fell sideways. I moved around the table and caught her shoulders before she could hit the edge of the chair. Her whole body trembled under my hands.
“Mom,” she whispered, panic spreading across her face. “Please—”
“No,” I said, not loudly, but firmly enough that she stopped.
Brent rose from his seat, his mouth twisting. “This is insane. You’re making a scene.”
I kept the phone pressed to my ear. “He has released her now,” I told the dispatcher. “But he is standing. He is angry. My daughter is crying. There are witnesses.”
Around us, the restaurant had gone silent except for the low hum of kitchen noise behind swinging doors. A young couple near the window stared openly. An older man slowly set down his fork. The waiter with the tray backed away and placed the plates on an empty table.
Diane stood too, her pearls shifting at her throat.
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