My mother didn’t clap immediately.
She stood frozen with one hand over her mouth, watching me as though she were seeing me for the first time.
Then, slowly, she joined the applause.
Caleb followed.
Outside, my father turned toward the sound.
Through the open doorway I caught sight of his face.
He looked angry.
He also looked smaller than I had ever seen him.
The reception carried a different atmosphere.
Several guests quietly slipped away early, most of them my father’s business associates. They mumbled excuses about emergencies, long drives, or babysitters while carefully avoiding eye contact.
The guests dressed in gray remained.
They didn’t dominate the celebration. Instead, they stayed respectful, almost cautious, as though they understood how delicate the day had become.
While Ethan was speaking with his mother near the cake table, Marcus approached me.
“I’m sorry for the timing,” he said.
I studied him for a moment.
