I was speaking to Michael’s father when the entrance doors opened.
And there she was.
Elena.
She wore a sparkling champagne-colored dress that caught the light every time she moved. Her hair was styled perfectly, and a designer handbag hung from her arm.
She looked older, of course. Fifteen years had changed her face, softened some features, sharpened others.
But her confidence remained exactly as I remembered it.
Beside her stood Julian Cross, dressed in a dark suit, his silver hair neatly combed.
He was still wealthy-looking, still polished, still carrying himself like a man accustomed to being welcomed wherever he went.
Elena scanned the room.
Then she spotted Chloe.
Her face brightened, and she hurried forward.
“Sweetheart!”
Chloe turned.
For a moment, the entire room seemed to grow quieter.
Elena opened her arms.
Chloe allowed her mother to hug her.
It was a brief embrace, stiff at first, then slightly warmer when Elena began to cry.
