I almost don’t go.
That’s the truth I don’t tell Ethan when I’m standing in front of the mirror, earrings half on, dress zipped but not settled on my body yet. I keep adjusting it like if I get it right enough, the night will behave.
The invitation has been sitting on the counter all day. Heavy paper. Embossed letters. The kind of event where people remember what you wore and forget what you said.
The Harrington Foundation Gala.
His family. Their world. Cameras that pretend not to look directly at you.
Ethan watches me from the doorway. Already dressed. Already composed. He looks like himself again, the version the world knows. It makes my chest tighten.
“We can leave early,” he says.
He’s been saying that a lot lately. As if everything is survivable as long as there’s an exit.
I n
