“Your mother d!ed? So what? Now serve my guests,” my husband laughed heartlessly. I obeyed, silent, tears dripping onto the plates. His boss noticed, touched my hand, and asked quietly, “Why are you crying?” I opened my mouth… and told him something that changed everything.
Lena swallowed hard.
“Darius… my mom died today.”
He stopped, just for a moment. A breath. A flicker of surprise—and then the weight of work settled back onto his shoulders.
There was no anger in his voice, no harshness—just pressure. Heavy, suffocating pressure.
Lena wanted to say no. She wanted to curl up and grieve. But seeing Darius so anxious made her hesitate. Her voice came out thin:
“I’ll try.”
THE DINNER THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
At 7 p.m., Maxwell Grant arrived. Tall, distinguished, leaning on an elegant silver cane, he greeted Darius warmly—until he saw Lena.
She wore a simple black dress, her eyes rimmed with red. Her hands trembled slightly as she welcomed him.
“Mrs. Collins,” he said gently, “have you been crying?”
Lena lowered her gaze.
“My mother passed away today.”
Maxwell froze. His eyes dropped to the bracelet on her wrist—a delicate charm with a phoenix and two tiny keys.
“It was my mother’s,” Lena replied softly. “She told me never to take it off.”
Maxwell’s expression shifted from shock to something deeper.
“Elara Moore… was my sister.”
Darius felt his stomach tighten.
“Mr. Grant… I had no idea. If we should postpone dinner, we absolutely can. I’m truly sorry for not recognizing how much pain Lena was in.”
Maxwell set his cane down and placed a reassuring hand on Darius’s shoulder.
“You’re ambitious, Collins. That’s good. But ambition means nothing if you forget the people right in front of you.”
He turned to Lena, his voice warm.
“Your mother left our family when we were young because things were… difficult. She wanted peace. And seeing you try to host a dinner on the day you lost her—it breaks my heart.”
Lena’s eyes filled again.
“I didn’t want to jeopardize Darius’s career.”
Maxwell shook his head.
“No career moment is worth silencing grief.” Continue reading…
