Izzy stepped out of the car, the faint scent of cupcakes in the box she held mixed with the cool air of the apartment building. She sighed, tired after the madness of the day. As she entered the apartment, she called out casually, "Charles?" but got no reply. She moved toward the kitchen, setting the box of cupcakes down on the counter and noticed the silence.

She walked through the apartment, stopping by his study, where she saw him hunched over his desk, glasses on and papers scattered around. Without knocking, she leaned in the doorway. "Hey, darling," she said softly, then entered and kissed him quickly on the lips. "How are you?"

Charles looked up from his paperwork, rubbing his eyes as he took off his glasses. "Good," he said, his focus seemed elsewhere. "Just finishing some paperwork. You?"

Izzy plopped down on the couch, kicking off her shoes. "Exhausted. Con was on edge today, though..." She let out a small sigh, stretching out, but after some time she could see Charles wasn't really listening.

She continued talking, but when she noticed his attention drifting again, she cleared her throat. She stood up slowly, a little unsure of what to do with the awkward silence. "Umm... I'm g-gonna go check if the driver's ready for the airport."

Charles glanced up at her but stayed focused on his work. "No need. He already picked them up."

Izzy stopped in her tracks, slightly thrown off. "Oh... well, I'll just go say hi to them."

She reached for the door but hesitated, then turned back. "Uh-just to be sure, you're not mad at me, right?"

Charles blinked, clearly not understanding what she meant. He shook his head slowly. "No, no. Everything's good." He adjusted his glasses, clearly getting back into work mode.

Izzy paused, letting the moment hang in the air for a second before nodding. "Okay," she replied, voice quiet but reassuring.

Charles sighed, putting down his pen, then glanced over at her. "Look, they finished early and wanted to surprise you. That's all."

Izzy's lips curved into a brief smile. "Got it," she said, blowing him a kiss as she headed for the door. "Thanks."

She left, the quiet click of the door behind her leaving the room feeling oddly still.

--------------------

The Ashfords arrived at the gala amidst the flashing of cameras and the buzz of paparazzi. Izzy, as always, commanded attention as she walked through the venue. She wore a stunning red gown, its intricate beading creating a striking stripe effect across her torso.

The dress was strapless, accentuating her shoulders and arms, and it flowed effortlessly to the floor with a sheer, transparent panel at the bottom, adding both elegance and drama to the look. Paired with matching red heels, her ensemble was the epitome of sophistication, from the vibrant red lipstick to the bold statement necklace she wore. Her smile radiated confidence as she posed for photos, a picture of glamour.

She was led to her table with Charles and their daughters, the only ones there at the moment. The rest of the guests hadn't arrived yet, so they chatted quietly while the girls fidgeted in their seats, clearly hungry after the long journey. Izzy glanced at them and, sensing their growing frustration, stood up with a small sigh.

"I'll be right back," she said, excusing herself to find something for them to snack on.

She made her way to the kitchen, gliding past the bustle of staff preparing final touches for the evening. As she was about to reach for some grapes, the kitchen door swung open, and she collided with Connor.

"Jesus, Con, what the hell?" Izzy muttered, stepping back.

Connor seemed unusually hesitant, clearly wrestling with something he didn't want to say. "Iz, can I ask you something?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Make it quick."

"I need you to make sure Dad knows about Kendall's speech," Connor blurted out. "Apparently he's announcing Logan's retirement tonight. He needs to know, right?"

Izzy stared at him for a beat, then sighed. "Seriously?"

After some back and forth he gave her a look, silently pleading. She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Fine, let's go."

Izzy grabbed the grapes and handed them off to the staff, then led Connor through the crowd toward their father's table, where Logan was already seated with Marcia and some other guests. When they arrived, they stood side by side, awkwardly, like children who had snuck into their parents' room after puking in the living room at midnight.

Connor nudged her forward, gesturing for her to take the lead. With an exaggerated sigh, Izzy crouched down to Logan's ear.

"Hey. Hey, daddy, how ya doin'?" she said.

Logan mumbled something in response, barely acknowledging her.

"I just wanted to check in on something," she continued, voice dropping lower. "I wanted to make sure you're aware of Kendall announcing your retirement tonight. I mean, I'm sure you were, but I just wanted to triple-check."

Logan looked at her. "What?"

Izzy tried to keep her voice steady. "Yeah, i-is that right? He's gonna say it. It's on the teleprompter."

Logan's gaze locked on her. "No."

"No?" Izzy repeated, cocking her head. "Is it a mistake? Because Kendall's definitely saying it."

Logan's jaw tightened, and he leaned back in his chair. "There's been a change of plan. Kendall's not speaking. I am."

Izzy nodded once, slowly. "Okay, good."

She stood up, shooting Connor a look as they began to turn away. She caught his expression, his face a mask of frustration.

"You're okay?" she asked.

Connor shook his head, muttering under his breath. "The butter was too cold."

Izzy glanced at him, blinking in confusion. "Huh?"

"You're fired". He stormed off toward the kitchen.

--------------------

The applause rang through the room as the man at the microphone grinned as he introduced the guest of honor.

AKA Logan Roy.

"Business mogul, philanthropist, and guy whose name is on all of my checks... ladies and gentlemen, it's my profound pleasure to introduce to you, on this most auspicious of occasions... in a change to advertised attractions, the man, the legend... Logan Roy!"

The crowd clapped again, louder this time, as Logan took the mic, steady and unbothered by the cheers. He gave a slight nod toward the crowd before speaking.

"Thank you. Uh, evening," Logan started, letting the mic echo through the hall. He paused, glancing at Marcia. "First, I'd like to thank my wife, Marcia, for... everything. Thank you." He nodded again, this time more deliberately, before turning his attention back to the room.

"Thanks to you all for coming. And thanks to those who've supported me during my recent health... nonsense. Head cold, yeah. So, that's... that's that," Logan said, waving off the topic with a small shrug, and the crowd chuckled lightly.

He shifted his weight, looking out over the guests. "So, personal news," he continued. "Someone took advantage of me being in the hospital, to... propose... to my daughter. So, I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome her fiancé, Tom Wamsgans, to the family."

There was polite applause, but Tom's gaze briefly locked with Izzy's.

Oh boy.

She didn't acknowledge it, keeping her focus on Logan, but Tom held her gaze for a beat too long before turning back to the front.

"Welcome to the family, Tom," Logan said with finality. "It's important that children are supported and encouraged. Everything I've done, I've done for my children. I'm proud of the way they've pulled together during my issue, and in particular... my son, Kendall. Well done, Ken."

Kendall gave a slight nod, his posture straightening at the mention of his name. Izzy watched him for a second.

"And now, for one last announcement of the night," Logan said, a slight grin pulling at his lips. "I'm officially announcing... I'm back. You better believe it. Full-time... better than ever. Thank you."

The applause was louder this time, as Logan let the crowd take in the weight of his words. Izzy didn't join in. She glanced at Charles, who was giving Logan a half-smile, and then back at the table.

--------------------

Isabelle sat across from Robert Moore, the COO of Façon, trying to keep her cool. The man had been in for decades, and she knew that convincing him to sell wasn't going to be easy. He wasn't just another old-money type-he was stubborn, methodical, and deeply attached to the brand he had helped build. She could see why. Façon was a legacy, a title that had meant something. But now, it was just another name in a market flooded with content, and it was slowly slipping away.

"Thanks for making the time today, Robert," Isabelle said, nodding as she sat across from him. "I know you've got a lot on your plate, so I'm gonna make it quick."

Robert raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "The floor is yours."

She didn't waste any time. "Look, your magazine is amazing. Great. Spectacular. I grew up with it. But the thing is, as the years passed, you lost not only millions of dollars because you don't have anything new to offer, but you also lost editors, you changed your executive director three times in five years, your sponsors pulled out, and not to mention-your wife is playing suck-suck on my dicky-dick with your personal trainer, so..."

Robert blinked, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance. He nodded slowly. "You really made it fucking quick."

Isabelle shrugged, leaning back in her seat. "Sorry. But here's the deal, Robert: you're stuck. The magazine isn't the powerhouse it used to be. You've got a brand that's circling the drain, and unless you sell, you're going to watch it die slowly. That's the reality of it."

He folded his arms. "Isabelle, you made good points. And we would give it to you if we were looking for business success only". He took a breath. "The problem is, we just can't sell the company to someone as unethical as you."

Izzy laughed, the sound dry. "C'mon, you're looking at it all wrong."

He didn't seem to be convinced, leaning in slightly. "Just a few months ago, Gerald Smith got his nudes leaked and had to resign from the White House."

Izzy paused, a flash of confusion crossing her face. "Oh... no, that was my dad. Not me. I think you're getting confused."

Robert didn't seem to care. "Doesn't really change a thing though, right? I mean, you're associated with him, and if we sell the company to you, the business will be associated with him, and pardon my French, your fuckwads of siblings too."

She leaned back in her chair. "Not directly." Robert shrugged.

Isabelle scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Really? You're going to let your vendetta against my dad lead you to make the biggest mistake in corporate history?"

Robert was clearly unmoved. Isabelle leaned forward now, her voice steady, direct. "Okay, my dad aside. Let's talk figures. You're looking at a valuation of what, maybe $200 million? But with a bit of rebranding, some strategic shifts... we can talk about doubling that in a year, easy. I know your circulation's down, your web presence is shit, but I've got the playbook to make Façon a household name again. I'll give you what you want-hell, I'll even sweeten the deal with the entire luxury brand portfolio. We can make this slicker than cum off a dolphin's back. But you need to meet me at the table, now. You're playing it like it's still 1999, and trust me, honey, it's a game you're not going to win."

Robert sat there for a moment, thinking. Then he shook his head, a faint trace of amusement in his eyes. "We've got loyal readers. That's not something you just buy."

She didn't skip a beat. "But you sure as hell buy the chance to earn it. Here's what we'll do, Robert. We'll take a controlling share, maybe not the whole thing, but enough to start pushing things in the right direction. We'll make you relevant again, and you won't have to go full nut-nut just to keep up. We're willing to give $300 million. I know you've had other offers, but trust me, none of them will get you the kind of influence you need. You get me, you get the audience, the power, the reach. You don't, then you can say fucky go bye-bye to your house in the Hamptons."

Robert narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not convinced. "Is this a joke?"

Izzy didn't even flinch. "Okay, $400 million."

He shook his head, still unmoved. "It's not about the money, Isabelle."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping. "$500 million. That's my final offer. Take it, or you'll be watching your competitors run circles around you while you keep holding on to a sinking ship that contains you and your wife fucking the trainer in it."

Robert sat back, his expression unreadable. Isabelle didn't expect him to crack immediately, but she knew the offer would stick in his mind. "I'll think about it," he said, rubbing his jaw.

--------------------

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and the group stepped out into Logan's apartment. The atmosphere was bustling with holiday cheer as they made their way toward the entrance where Marcia stood, a warm smile on her face.

Marcia wasted no time as she spotted the twins. She immediately bent down, pulling them into a tight embrace. "Girls, it's been so long! Look at you two," she said, her voice filled with affection. She held both their faces in her hands, brushing a few stray hairs from their cheeks. "There are some treats in the dining room for you. Go ahead, don't wait for us."

The girls dashed off in excitement, their energy filling the space as Charles called after them, "No messing around, okay?".

Connor and Marcia exchanged a hug, both of them comfortable and at ease. There was no awkwardness in the air, just the familiarity of family.

"Hi," Connor said simply, his grin warm as ever.

"Connor," Marcia responded, returning the hug with a tight squeeze before stepping back to greet Willa.

Willa, holding a dish of cranberry sauce, offered it to Marcia with a sweet smile. "Happy Thanksgiving."

Marcia smiled back, appreciative of the gesture. "Thank you."

Connor, clearly proud, began to introduce Willa, but Marcia cut him off with a knowing look, her voice light. "Yes. Willa. I heard you were coming, but I didn't believe it. Happy Thanksgiving."

Willa smiled, appreciative of the welcome. "I hear this is Logan's favorite."

Marcia nodded. "Thank you."

Turning her attention to Charles, Marcia's face softened even more. She gave him a brief but genuine hug before stepping back. "Hey Mars," Charles said affectionately, using the nickname he'd always had for her. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," Marcia replied, smiling warmly. "I finished reading the books you recommended. They were amazing."

Charles grinned, clearly pleased. "Glad you liked them."

Marcia then turned her attention to Isabelle, who had been standing quietly by the side, observing the greetings. "Isabelle. Happy Thanksgiving," she said, stepping forward to embrace her.

Izzy smiled and handed her a box. "Thank you."

Marcia opened the box with a soft gasp, her eyes lighting up as she saw the contents. "Oh! Arnaud Lahrer. J'adore! Merci beaucoup."

Izzy's smile was satisfied, a small nod to her impeccable taste. "Thought you'd like it."

--------------------

Roman walked into the dining room, his footsteps loud as he approached the twins, who were seated at the table flipping through a magazine. The moment he saw them, he raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

"Who the hell is who?" Roman asked, squinting at them. "Which one's Tweedledee and which one's Tweedledum?"

Annie and Hallie exchanged a look, not really bothered, just used to this by now.

"Don't call us that," Hallie muttered under her breath, but not loudly enough for Roman to hear. She picked up a cupcake from the plate, giving it a half-hearted bite.

Roman wasn't paying attention to her, though. He was fixated on the magazine in front of them. "What the hell are you two reading? The Biggest Turkey in the World? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Annie glanced at Hallie. "It's just a movie," she said quietly.

"Just a movie?" Roman repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "That piece of shit movie? I fought tooth and nail to keep that dumpster fire from ever seeing the light of day. You know what, no more reading. If you do, I'll make you do push ups until you're eighteen. "

The girls thought he was done and were hoping to go play with their cousins.

Boy were they wrong.

Roman dropped down into the chair next to them, crossing his arms. His tone was sarcastic as hell. " If I had it my way, it'd still be in the vault, and nobody would ever know it existed. It's like Waystar's biggest fucking mistake in years."

He leaned closer, staring at the magazine cover. "God, it's like I've fallen in a barrel of deal tits," he muttered to himself, then looked back at the twins. "I don't get it. I thought you were supposed to play piggy-pony this week-end at what-Windsor?"

Annie bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the rant, while Hallie just stared ahead. Roman noticed their silence and scoffed. "Yeah, of course you're quiet. Eating beans on bread will do that to you. And by the way this is not what you wear in America."

He paused, then stood up abruptly, glaring at the magazine once more. Roman turned and headed out, mumbling under his breath. "Fucking mess."

Hallie turned to her sister and whispered. "But it's Chanel".

Annie shook her head and picked up the magazine again. "He's just jealous, c'mon".

--------------------

Izzy had just finished talking to Kendall, who was rambling on about the upcoming vote of no confidence to overthrow their father. She couldn't hide the disbelief in her eyes, but instead of outright telling him how ridiculously stupid it was, she accepted the game.

"Yeah, you know what, hell yeah." she said. If by some insane miracle it worked, and Kendall actually managed to pull it off, then she could easily knock him out of the arena. She didn't sit on the board and wasn't even working at Waystar, but she promised to help in some way-on one condition. No one could know she was involved.

Not Karl, not Gerri, no one.

She did not want to say it, but she was fucking scared.

It was like making a deal with the devil.

Izzy started making her way to the living room She was interrupted, however, by none other than Tom fucking Wambsgans, the guy who seemed perpetually desperate for validation.

"Hey, hey, hey," Tom called out in a sing-ey voice as he hurried to catch up with her.

Izzy turned to face him, already feeling the annoyance bubbling up. "Bye, bye, bye," she shot back, trying to move past him.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Tom asked, an awkwardness in his voice.

"Euh, no," Izzy replied curtly, ready to keep walking. She had better things to do than entertain his endless attempts at being relevant.

"Okay, so look," Tom pressed, his tone shifting slightly, though still full of uncertainty. "I just wanted to say that, uh, I was hoping to get your blessing for Shiv."

Izzy stopped dead in her tracks, eyes narrowing. "Why? Are you gonna get promoted if I do?" she asked, her voice flat.

Tom dry laughed for a second. "Ah, ah, no, no. I just thought, with what happened, I..."

Izzy cut him off before he could continue, her patience at an end. "Thomas, I'm gonna stop you right there. First of all, I don't give a shit, and second of all, it's not my job to give you my blessing, no matter..." She waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, I'm happy for you, I'm happy for her, can I go now?"

Tom blinked, a little stunned, before mumbling, "Yes, thank you."

But Izzy was already walking away, not even sparing him a second glance as she continued down the hall.

--------------------

Everyone was seated at the long table, the soft hum of conversation filling the air as the waiters began placing the plates in front of the guests. Marcia stood up, taking charge of the moment, her voice smooth and poised.

"Again, welcome, everybody. Please go ahead. We're eating family-style," she said, offering a warm smile as she gestured to the platters in the center of the table.

Roman leaned back in his chair, looking over the spread with a smirk. "Oh, family-style. What, almost like we're a family?" he quipped, the sarcasm not lost on anyone and Isabelle smacked the back of his head.

Marcia ignored the jab, her smile still intact. "Serve yourself," she replied simply.

Logan, who had been watching the interactions with an amused yet distant look, found himself facing a sizeable turkey. As the waiter placed it in front of him, he gave it an almost bewildered look before attempting to cut it. "Yeah, sure, here we go," he muttered to himself, fumbling a bit with the knife. His effort was hardly impressive, but no one said anything.

Connor, ever the opportunist, leaned forward with a grin. "OK, Pa. Nicely done," he said. A few claps broke out around the table, though there was no real enthusiasm behind them.

Once the plates were served and everyone began digging in, the quiet chatter resumed, the clink of silverware and occasional laugh filling the air. Logan, ever the man of few words, finally broke the silence, directing his attention across the table.

"So, Ewan... how's the ranch?" Logan asked casually, his voice cool but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

Ewan, his brother, took a sip of wine before answering with a slight smile. "Why don't you come up sometime? See for yourself."

Before the conversation could continue, Marcia quickly interjected, her voice warm and polite, but clearly aimed at preventing any potential collision. "Thank you, Ewan. What a kind invitation."

Just then, Rava entered, Sophie in tow, but Iverson was nowhere to be seen. Sophie made a beeline for the twins and Grace's daughter, immediately diving into conversation with them. Rava waved in apology as she walked in.

"Hi! Hi. Sorry we're late," she said, her voice light and apologetic.

Rava leaned in and kissed Marcia on the cheek. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," Marcia responded warmly, her smile genuine. Then Rava moved across the table to greet Kendall.

"Hi. Happy Thanksgiving. Sorry, we're on the Turkey Trail," she added, her voice laced with slight exhaustion but still carrying that air of grace she always had.

Kendall stood up, immediately looking around. "Hey. Where's Iverson?"

Rava hesitated, her eyes darting to the side. "He's... He's... He's just in the other room. He's... He's just having a moment. Sorry, guys. I'll go sit with him." She started to move, but Kendall's voice stopped her.

"No, it's fine. I will," Kendall said quickly, getting up from his seat and making his way toward the door.

Logan, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, finally spoke up, his voice cutting through the ambient noise with its usual authority.

"Don't go there! Hey! Get him in here. He has to do as he's told. Annie and Hallie are here. Sophie is here, even Grace's fucking daughter is here." His eyes were hard, his tone firm and uncompromising.

Rava, still standing, didn't back down. "He just needs some time, because transitions are difficult."

Logan scoffed. "Oh. Transitions are difficult. Are you kidding me?" His eyes moved to Shiv, challenging her to say something.

"Did you know that transitions were difficult?" Logan asked with a sharp look.

"I did know that transitions were difficult," she said as a matter of fact.

Marcia, sensing the growing tension, tried to smooth things over. "Anyway. Cheers, everybody!" she said quickly, raising her glass with a bright smile, hoping to shift the focus away from the argument that had just unfolded.

The clinking of glasses followed, but it wasn't quite as lighthearted as it should have been.

--------------------

The family had finally settled into Logan's office, Logan proudly showing off his collection of World War I memorabilia. The room buzzed with quiet conversation, interrupted occasionally by Logan's booming voice as he explained the significance of each piece.

Roman was leaning against the wall, his eyes scanning the items with mild disinterest. "Yeah, yeah, fifty-year-old medals, that's what really gets my heart racing," he mumbled, his sarcasm dripping.

Grace, sitting nearby, tried to lighten the mood. "Roman, you should do something like this. It's nice to have a hobby."

"I've got a hobby," Roman replied without missing a beat.

"Killing hobos isn't a hobby," Shiv shot back, glancing at him from the other side of the room.

"Or jerking off in the office," Isabelle added, not looking up from her phone.

Logan, in the middle of a passionate explanation, was too absorbed in his stories to notice the back-and-forth. "This," he said, gesturing to a medal, "is a World War One 16th Infantry Canadian medal. Of course, the Assyrians wore medals before the Romans. But this... this is Roman."

Willa, standing beside him, looked up, intrigued. "Excuse my ignorance, but did you win any of these?"

Ewan, who had been quiet until now, chimed in. "Of course not. He never served."

Willa, unfazed, continued her polite questioning. "Is it okay if I-" she started, reaching for a piece.

Logan smiled at her, but held it just out of her reach. "Oh!" he exclaimed, his voice light but firm. "Maybe don't touch. This one did cost rather a lot."

Ewan, ever the cynic, couldn't resist. "Not as much as it cost the man who won it."

"I collect 'em... out of respect," Logan replied, his voice low, almost defensive.

Ewan chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure you do."

Logan continued, leaning toward Willa, "Fifty years ago, he volunteered for a war just to impress the town slut."

Willa, trying to keep the mood light, laughed politely. "And now, no one... no one ever hears the end of it."

Tom, feeling the need to add his own commentary, piped up with a grin. "I thought Canadians only fought on the ice."

Ewan shot him a look, quick to correct him and he felt embarassed. "Thirty thousand Canadians fought communism in Vietnam."

Logan, dismissive, waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, thank you, thank you, thank you. What do you want, huh? A medal?"

"To keep us free," Ewan shot back.

Logan, suddenly more serious, leaned forward, his voice sharp. "What? Viet Cong come up your drainpipe in Ottawa, did they?"

Ewan didn't flinch. "Free to spew your poison. Carnival barker for all the wars we really didn't need."

Logan snapped, "Did you even fire a gun?"

Ewan raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you end up doing KP duty?"

"Please," Marcia intervened, attempting to ease the rising tension.

Logan pressed further, ignoring her attempt. "They should send you the bodies."

Ewan, exasperated, stood up straighter, ready to leave. "Everything isn't about money, Logan."

Logan's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Oh... you ever heard of ethics?"

Ewan sighed deeply. "Uh-huh. You ever heard of a begging letter?"

Logan smirked, leaning back in his chair. "One miserable letter. I got a thousand acres... you got the rest of the world."

Ewan looked down at him, his voice thick with bitterness. "Big man. Big brother. Wouldn't eat a fucking blueberry until it had been weighed and written in the ledger, little Miss Prim."

Logan leaned forward again. "You don't know who I am. And you are not the arbiter of the truth."

Ewan shook his head, clearly done with the conversation. "I was told that you were ready to apologize."

"For what?!" Logan barked.

Ewan, his patience spent, gave one last look around the room. "You're all liars. You lied to me. And you humiliated me."

With that, Ewan turned to leave, his voice steady but his frustration clear. "Go fuck yourself."

Roman, watching the scene unfold with a wry smile, muttered to the others, "Woah. I don't understand why we don't invite him every year."

Logan, ever the one to deflect, looked at Marcia. "Your idea," he said, without any real conviction.

Later, after the family had settled into a less tense environment, they gathered around for a game of I Went to Market. The game was simple enough: each person took turns remembering an item from the market, adding a new one each round. But it quickly became clear that Logan, still recovering from his stroke, had trouble remembering the list.

When it came to Logan's turn again, Iverson leaned in, trying to pry the can of cranberry sauce from his hands. "Come on, Grandpa, it's my turn now," Iverson said gently, his hands hovering near the can.

Logan, growing increasingly frustrated with the interruption, did not let him go. Iverson tried again, a little firmer this time. "Come on, let me have it."

In a flash, Logan's patience snapped. The cranberry sauce flew from his hand, hitting Iverson square in the face. The room went silent, shock etched on everyone's faces.

Connor, who had been sitting quietly across the table, was the first to speak. "Jesus, dad," he muttered, clearly stunned.

Charles quickly stood up, rushing over to Iverson, while Marcia followed close behind, concern flashing across her face. The rest of the family watched in stunned silence, unsure of how to respond.

And as the Ashford's made their way to the car, their footsteps light compared to the disorder they had just witnessed. The twins, Annie and Hallie, were laughing quietly between themselves as they reenacted the moment in exaggerated detail.

They couldn't help but laugh as they recalled the slap, mimicking it over and over.

It was a ridiculous, and mean.

Blame it on the mom.