“Proud?” he said. “How am I supposed to feel proud when you’re… like this? Picture it: I’m walking through the ballroom, and instead of a partner beside me, I’m pushing a wheelchair. Do you know how that looks? Like I’m dragging a problem behind me. My image matters, Mara. I need someone who can stand next to me—not someone who needs help just to exist.”
Each word struck with precision.
“Stay home,” he said flatly. “Don’t wait up. And don’t call.”
He walked out, leaving Mara alone in the quiet room, the red gown folded in her lap like a dream she was no longer allowed to have.
The Grand Ballroom glittered with wealth and celebration. Crystal lights reflected off polished floors, and laughter floated easily between glasses of champagne.
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