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The terrifying mathematics of time and biology clicked into place behind his calculating eyes: eighteen years of absence, eighteen years of life on that stage.
Beside him, Sophia turned translucent, her manicured fingers digging violently into her leather handbag as she recognized the ghost she had banished.
The symposium dean stepped toward me with a wide, generous smile, handing me a secondary wireless microphone.
“Ms. Bennett, raising such an extraordinary mind alone must have required monumental strength,” the dean said warmly.
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“Did your husband provide guidance, or was he unable to see his son reach this incredible summit?” the dean inquired politely into the house audio.
The entire theater waited, five hundred academics and families leaning forward in respectful silence.
I turned my head toward the third row, looking directly into the bloodshot, horrified eyes of Vincent Moretti.
I lifted the microphone to my lips, feeling the weight of eighteen years of solitary struggle settle into cold, unbreakable iron.
