Gasps rippled violently through the audience. People weren’t whispering anymore; they were turning physically in their seats, craning their necks to look directly at the Harringtons. Eleanor’s face went chalk-white. Richard stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to snap.
“They threw their own blood, their own daughter, out into the street with nothing, rather than face the judgment of this country club town!” Ethan roared, pointing a finger down at the VIP section. “They chose their pride over their child!”
The silence in the room was absolute, pregnant with the weight of the exposed truth.
“But while you see a mistake,” Ethan’s voice softened just a fraction, echoing with profound love as he looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms, “I see my greatest responsibility. I received a letter from my own father a few days ago. He sent me money. He told me he was proud.”
