Instead, he set the folder carefully on the dresser.
"How much is that bag worth?" he asked Brielle, nodding toward the tan leather handbag on the chair by the door.
Brielle blinked. "What?"
"Your handbag. The one you wanted for your birthday."
"Two thousand, three hundred dollars," Celeste answered before Brielle could speak. "Marcus, why?"
Dad lifted the handbag from the chair, opened it, and placed it on the countertop near the coffee machine in the adjoining dressing area. I thought he was going to take something out of it. Instead he picked up the glass coffee carafe that had been left there after breakfast. There was still warm coffee inside.
"Marcus," Celeste warned.
He tipped the carafe. A dark stream poured straight into the open handbag. It soaked the silk lining, splashed the makeup case, and pooled around Brielle's phone charger. Brielle let out a horrified cry and rushed forward, but he had already set the pot down.
"My bag!" she shouted. "You destroyed my bag!"
Dad looked at her without raising his voice. "It's just coffee, Brielle."
She stared at him. Celeste stared at him. Even I stared at him. The words sounded terrible in his mouth, precisely because we had heard them spoken so casually a few minutes before. I realized what he had done, and a confusing rush of relief and alarm rose in me at the same time.
"That was cruel!" Brielle cried.
"Yes," Dad said. "It was. And that is the point."
He took one step back. "I should not have damaged your property. I'll pay to replace the bag. I am responsible for what I just did. But I want you to remember how it felt to watch someone ruin something valuable and then tell you to stop being dramatic. Naomi made that gown with her own hands. It contains a piece of her mother's memory. You didn't even offer to help her clean it."
Brielle tried to look toward Celeste for rescue, but Dad was still talking. "You will replace the fabric she bought, contribute toward the professional restoration, and apologize without excuses. For now, you won't be using the car I pay for or the card attached to my account. We'll discuss the rest after graduation."
"You can't treat my daughter like this," Celeste said.
"I just treated her the way you allowed Naomi to be treated," he replied. "And I wish it hadn't taken a ruined handbag for me to see how ugly that was."
Celeste turned red with anger. "You have no idea how difficult Naomi has been with Brielle."
Dad's face changed. "Then tell me about it later. Right now I have a daughter whose graduation dress has been destroyed, and she is the one I am going to help."
Nobody moved. I should have felt victorious. Instead, the pain I had held back since the coffee landed began to break through. I covered my face with both hands, ashamed that I was crying on a morning I had promised myself would be happy.