“My husband died the day my son was born,” I said, my voice ringing clear and steady through every brass speaker in the hall.
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A collective, sympathetic sigh swept through the audience, several women pressing their hands to their hearts.
“I am so very sorry for your loss, Ms. Bennett,” the dean murmured, gently touching my elbow.
Across the aisle, Vincent’s large hands slowly curled into fists, his knuckles turning stark, bone-white against the velvet seat in front of him.
He looked like an emperor whose palace had just dissolved into ash, powerless beneath the gaze of the son he had never held.
Noah reached out, taking my cold fingers into his warm, steady grip, pulling me close beneath the burning lights of the stage.
PART 2: The Hallway of Glass
The reception hall outside Sanders Theatre buzzed with the high-pitched clinking of champagne flutes and classical string quartets.
