Thomas: Who did this to my daughter?!
The heavy mahogany doors of the dining room crashed open. Thomas stormed in, his navy suit wrinkled and his face red with pure fury.
Eleanor: Thomas? What are you doing here?
Thomas: Answer the question, Eleanor!
Harrison: Son, lower your voice. We have guests.
Thomas: I don't care about your dinner party, Harrison.
He carried his two-year-old daughter, Lily, tightly against his chest. She was sobbing, her small face pale and covered in a rash.
Eleanor: Put the child away, Thomas. You are making a scene.
Thomas: You did this to her.
Eleanor: I have no idea what you are talking about.
Thomas: The peanut oil, Eleanor. You knew she was severely allergic.
Eleanor: It was just a mistake by the catering staff.
Thomas: The catering staff didn't feed her. You did.
Thomas marched around the long table. The wealthy guests stopped eating. Total silence fell over the elegant modern room.
Eleanor: Back away from me right now.
Thomas: You hurt my child!
Thomas raised his free hand. He swung it forward with devastating speed.
A sharp slap echoed like a gunshot across the room. Eleanor's head snapped to the side. She stumbled back in her expensive pink dress, gasping in shock.
Guest: Oh my god!
Harrison: Thomas! Have you lost your mind?
Thomas: She tried to put my daughter in the hospital!
Eleanor: You hit me! You actually hit me!
Thomas: If you ever come near my child again, I will do a lot worse.
Thomas grabbed the edge of the dining table. He swept his arm violently across the white linen.
Crystal wine glasses and heavy bottles smashed onto the floor. Red wine splashed across the pristine tiles.
Harrison: Security! Get him out of here!
Thomas: You don't need security. We are leaving.
Thomas turned his back on the stunned room. He adjusted his grip on his crying toddler, resting her head on his shoulder.
Harrison: Come back here!
Thomas: She's my family. You are not.
Thomas walked out into the grand hallway. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him with a massive, echoing thud.