Eleanor was the first to move. She set down her glass and said, not to Todd, but to the table, "Let's all just calm down." Not, "Are you okay?" Not, "Todd, what did you do?" Just, "Calm down." Manage the scene. Protect the image.
Brett leaned back in his chair. "She provoked him. Everybody saw that." Donna pulled out her phone, not to call for help, to record. She pointed the camera at Faith, at the black woman with a handprint on her face, not at the man who put it there. A few guests shifted in their seats. One man closed his eyes and shook his head, but he stayed seated. They all stayed seated.
Naomi was already on her feet. She crossed the table in four steps. She took Faith's hand, gently, firmly, like she was handling something precious and broken at the same time. "We're leaving, right now." Faith didn't resist. She let her mother guide her away from the table, away from the tents, away from the flags and the tiki torches and the fireflies.
Todd yelled after them, "Go ahead. Run. You were never one of us anyway." Brett raised his beer. "Don't let the gate hit you on the way out, girl."
Naomi didn't turn around. Faith didn't either. They walked across the gravel driveway. Their shoes crunching with every step. The sound of the party resuming behind them. Music starting back up, conversations restarting, glasses clinking again. Like nothing happened.
They got in the car. Naomi drove. Faith sat in the passenger seat, her hands in her lap. A tear rolled down her cheek and landed on her dress. She didn't wipe it. The peach cobbler dish, empty now, sat on the back seat.
They drove in silence for 10 minutes. The Virginia countryside rolled past. Dark fields, distant farmhouses, stars blinking through the windshield. Faith's phone buzzed, then again, then five times in a row. She ignored it. Naomi glanced at the screen lighting up. "Baby, your phone." Faith stared out the window. "I don't want to talk to anyone right now." The phone buzzed again, then started ringing. The caller ID read, Carolyn Shaw. Naomi looked at the road, then at her daughter, then at the phone. "Sweetheart, that's the ninth time it's gone off."
Faith finally looked down. A wall of texts from Carolyn. Capital letters, exclamation marks, four missed calls. Faith, where are you? Turn on a TV now. Faith, answer your phone. The announcement went live. The whole country is watching.
Faith's breath caught. Nah. I'm sorry, but what? 60 people. 60. Watching a man slap his wife. And not one stood up. Not one. Now, be honest with yourself. If you were sitting at that table, fork in your hand, would you have said something? Or would you have just kept chewing?
Naomi pulled the car onto the shoulder of a dark two-lane road, engine still running, headlights cutting through nothing. "Read those messages, Faith." Faith picked up her phone. Her hands were still shaking. She scrolled through Carolyn's texts, then she saw the link. A live broadcast from WNCN. She tapped it.
The screen loaded. Bright studio lights, the WNCN anchor desk, network executive Megan Torres standing behind the podium with the network logo glowing behind her. Megan's voice came through the tiny phone speaker, clear and proud.
"Tonight, we are thrilled to make a historic announcement. After 15 years of extraordinary journalism, from war zones to the halls of Congress, we are naming Faith Underwood as the new lead primetime anchor of Washington National Cable News. Faith becomes the first black woman to hold this position in our network's 30-year history. Her courage, her integrity, and her voice represent everything this network stands for."
A highlight reel played. Faith reporting from a hurricane aftermath, wind tearing at her jacket. Faith interviewing a senator, eyes sharp, questions sharper. Faith on a podium accepting a journalism award. 15 years of work compressed into 90 seconds.
Naomi's hand flew to her mouth. Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could even speak. She grabbed her daughter's arm and squeezed. "Baby. Baby, that's you."
Faith stared at the screen. The woman on that broadcast looked powerful, confident, unbreakable. Faith touched her own cheek, still hot, still swollen from Todd's hand, and looked at that woman on the screen and couldn't connect the two. But they were the same woman. They had always been the same woman.
Her phone rang. Carolyn. "Faith, oh my god, where are you? The whole country just saw your face. Every network is picking it up. You're trending number one on every platform right now." Faith's voice cracked, just barely. "Carolyn, something happened tonight." "What? What happened?" "Not now. I'll tell you everything, but I need to make a call first." She hung up, sat still for 5 seconds, then dialed the Fluvanna County Sheriff's Office. "I'd like to report a domestic assault."
Now, let me take you back to the Anderson property, because what happened there in the next 15 minutes is something no one in that family will ever forget.