Crystal lights filled the Four Seasons ballroom. From a command vehicle across the street, I watched Chloe and Richard onstage beneath the media spotlights.
The monitor framed them against champagne and forced smiles. Warm light softened every face for the cameras.
“Eleanor is unwell,” Chloe said. She paused for the cameras. “She’s been struggling for years. What happened to poor Leo was the tragic culmination of a long decline.”
“Richard stood by her for as long as he could,” Chloe continued, “but for his own safety, he had to leave.”
Her version erased Leo and left me as the danger Richard had escaped. The guests listened without interrupting.
She had turned my son’s death into a story about Richard’s patience. Every pause invited sympathy, and the cameras kept rolling.
“This is a
