She looks toward you.
Your stomach flips.
Marco clears his throat. “Most of you know my mother raised me alone. What most of you don’t know is that every good thing people compliment me on tonight has her fingerprints on it. My discipline, my work ethic, my refusal to quit, my ability to keep going when I’m scared, my belief that love is something you prove with action… none of that appeared by accident.”
His voice breaks, and he pauses.
You want to save him from the emotion, but there is nowhere to go and no reason to run.
“So,” he says, “Lara and I decided that today shouldn’t only be about the family we’re starting. It should also honor the person who made this day possible in ways bigger than money.”
A waiter wheels out a small easel draped in white cloth.
The room murmurs.
