I agreed to attend Damian’s gala for one reason only.
Not for him.
Not for absolution.
And certainly not for memory, because memory had already taken enough from me.
I went because the foundation had finally begun the one thing that mattered more than my hatred: patient enrollment.
Three mothers from rural clinics had already been approved for hereditary retinal screening under emergency grants. Two children had entered the trial mapping program built from research I should have been allowed to complete years ago. Liam himself had signed the testimony packet that helped accelerate the ethics clearance. Science was moving. Real lives, not headlines, were moving with it.
If I had stayed away, I would have let my grief boycott my own work.
I would not give the past that victory.
The g
