Maria: By the time the gala finally began emptying out, my cheeks hurt from smiling and my heels had officially declared war on me. People were still stopping me on their way out to compliment the event — the flowers, the seating arrangement, the donations, the press turnout. I thanked them automatically, nodding through conversations while my brain lagged several seconds behind my body. The room still looked beautiful, warm gold lighting spilling across white tablecloths, waiters moving quietly between tables, string music soft enough to disappear beneath conversation. Weeks of planning sitting right in front of me, polished and successful. And somehow the only thing I could think about was Daniel going still. Not surprised. Still. My mother found me near the exit while I was thanking an elderly couple from one of Charles Rothfield’s foundations. The second they walked away she stepped closer. “Mari.” I looked at her immediately. “Mama.” She studied my face carefully, not dramatica
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