Ethan Hart knelt in front of Lena, his eyes filled with a profound sadness that the guests could feel in the air. The room was silent, the tension thick. He gently wiped the soup from Lena’s face with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, his hands trembling ever so slightly.
“Lena, sweetheart, are you alright?” Ethan’s voice was soft, soothing, as if he was trying to mend something broken not just on her skin, but deep inside her heart.
Lena nodded, her eyes welling with tears. But she didn’t cry. Not in front of Vivian, not with the fear that it would only make things worse. Her father’s presence was a balm, a protection she hadn’t known she needed until that very moment.
