She wore a cream blazer and a diamond necklace that looked heavy enough to pull her shoulders down.
Between them stood their son, Preston.
I already knew his name.
Everyone did.
Preston Crowe.
Math prodigy.
Debate champion.
Future valedictorian.
Nathan’s pride and joy.
Nathan looked me up and down.
Plain navy dress.
Old leather tote.
Nothing flashy.
“This is an invitational event, Mara,” he said. “Not a charity gathering.”
Celeste gave a small laugh.
“Nathan, don’t be rude. Maybe she’s working catering.”
My fingers tightened once around the registration envelope in my hand.
Behind me, my sons became very still.
Eli and Ethan were sixteen now.
Tall.
Quiet.
Dark-haired.
They had Nathan’s cheekbones and my eyes.
The last time Nathan had seen them, they were three years old.
They had been sick, tired, and crying on a courthouse bench while he signed away his visitation rights because Celeste didn’t want to “inherit drama.”
