PART 2:

But Daniel had learned that revealing yourself too early robbed you of valuable information, and he’d learned something valuable already. Lauren Hayes had dignity. She’d endured their mockery without crumbling, without lashing out. That took strength. He’d also learned that she was observant. He’d caught her studying him, cataloging details.

She was reassessing her initial impression. Good. That meant she wasn’t as quick to judge as the others. When she’d asked about his daughter, he’d answered truthfully. Sarah was his world, his reason for everything. After Rebecca died, Sarah had been what kept him moving forward, kept him human. Every decision he made, he measured against one question.

What kind of father do I want to be for her? The kind of father who didn’t use his position to shield her from reality, he’d decided. The kind who taught her that power meant responsibility, not privilege. The kind who showed up at parent teacher conferences no matter what was happening at the office. Who made her breakfast every morning? Who knew all her friends names? Do you mind if I ask what you do? Lauren’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

I work in development, Daniel said. It was true, if incomplete building projects mostly. And you? I wait tables. Not glamorous, but it keeps the lights on. Honest work, Daniel said. I’ve done it. College summers. Something shifted in her expression. Surprise, maybe that he didn’t condescend.

It’s harder than people think, she said. Most things are. They were interrupted by the arrival of another couple at the table, the Hendersons, whose company probably donated enough to warrant better seating. They looked at Daniel and Lauren with barely concealed disdain before sitting as far away as possible and turning their backs.

Lauren’s jaw tightened. Daniel saw the hurt she tried to hide. “They’re not worth your energy,” he said quietly. “Easy to say, is it?” Daniel leaned forward slightly. “I found that people who need to make others feel small usually feel pretty small themselves. They’re just louder about it.” Lauren met his eyes.

You’re not what I expected. What did you expect? I don’t know. Someone broken, maybe someone bitter who says I’m not. You don’t act like it. Daniel considered this. I decided a long time ago that what happened to my family didn’t get to define my family. Sarah deserves a father who’s present, not one who’s drowning in whatifs and ifonies.

Some days I manage it, some days I don’t. But I try. That’s all any of us can do, Lauren said softly. The presentation was starting, lights dimming, a slideshow beginning on the screen behind the podium. Daniel settled back in his chair, but his attention wasn’t on the stage. It was on the question forming in his mind.

What was he going to do about Richard Thornton and his cruel little game? As the presentation droned on a series of speeches about community and service delivered by people who viewed both as networking opportunities, Daniel and Lauren continued their conversation in whispers. Emma wants to try gymnastics, Lauren said.

But the classes are expensive. And with my schedule, Sarah wanted violin lessons last year, Daniel replied. I thought, how hard can it be? Turns out very hard. The screeching alone nearly broke me. Lauren covered her mouth to suppress a laugh. Mrs. Henderson shot them a disapproving look. Did she stick with it? Lauren asked.

She did. Now she’s actually good. Which means I have to pretend to enjoy concerts where 12 kids play Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star at 12 different speeds. The price of parenthood, worth every out of tune note. Their conversation meandered through the territory of single parenthood, the logistics of child care, the guilt of missing school events, the fierce love that made every sacrifice feel inevitable.

Daniel found himself relaxing in a way he rarely did at these events. Lauren was easy to talk to, unguarded in her honesty. Do you ever feel like you’re failing? She asked suddenly. like no matter how hard you try, you’re always one step behind where you should be. Daniel paused, considering every single day.

But then Sarah brings home a drawing she made or tells me about something funny that happened at school. And I realize she’s turning out fine despite my constant certainty that I’m doing everything wrong. Emma told me last week that I’m the best mom in the world, Lauren said. And I thought, “Kid, you have no frame of reference, but it still felt good.

They love us because we’re trying,” Daniel said. “Not because we’re perfect.” Around them, other attendees were beginning to notice their conversation. The table had filled in the Hendersons, two other couples, and Richard Thornton himself, who’d apparently decided to grace table 12 with his presence. “Well, well,” Richard said loudly enough to carry Look at the love birds.

I guess misery really does love company. Several people at nearby tables turned to look. Lauren’s face flushed. Daniel felt anger spark in his chest, not at the insult to himself, but at the casual way Richard tried to diminish Lauren. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, Daniel said, his voice calm, but carrying an edge Lauren hadn’t heard before.

You are Richard Thornton. I’m on the foundation board. He said it like it was an achievement. Ah, Daniel said the foundation that exists because people like Lauren’s late husband ran into burning buildings while people like you stood safely outside. The nearby conversations stopped. Richard’s smile faltered. I’m sorry.

Who are you exactly? Richard asked. someone who thinks this charity would be better served by people who actually understand what sacrifice looks like. Richard’s face reddened. That’s quite an opinion for someone who’s here on a pity invitation. Is that what you think? I know it. We have a whole category for people in your situation.

Community outreach, Richard made air quotes. It’s for tax purposes mostly. Mrs. Henderson laughed a sharp unkind sound. Daniel didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Tell me, Richard, how much did you personally donate this year? That’s none of your business. 50,000? 100? What does it matter? Just curious about the moral authority you seem to feel you have.

Daniel’s eyes were steady, unblinking. Interesting how much courage it takes to mock people at a table you deliberately set up to isolate them. The silence now was different. tense waiting. Richard stood abruptly. I don’t have to listen to this. No. Daniel agreed. You don’t. But you should, Richard didn’t walk away. That would have been smart.

Instead, he doubled down. You know what? He said, his voice rising. I’m tired of people like you acting entitled to sympathy. Life is hard for everyone. Some of us just handle it better. Richard, Vanessa said nervously, appearing at his elbow. Even she seemed to sense he was crossing a line. But Richard shook her off. No, I’m going to say it.

This whole event has become a parade of soba stories. Oh, I lost my spouse. Oh, I’m raising kids alone. Join the club. The rest of us managed to pull ourselves together and contribute to society. Lauren had gone very still. Daniel could see her fighting between anger and the desire to not make a scene.

To not give these people the satisfaction. You should stop talking, Daniel said quietly. Or what? You’ll complain to someone? Richard laughed. Look around. Everyone here knows how the world works. Some people add value. Some people take up space. You two are at a table together for a reason. You’re absolutely right.

Daniel said, “We are at this table for a reason. Though I don’t think it’s the reason you believe.” Something in Daniel’s tone made Richard pause. The absolute certainty of it, the lack of defensiveness. And what reason is that? Richard asked, but his voice had lost some of its swagger to see who people really are when they think there are no consequences.

Lauren was gripping the edge of the table. Daniel could see she wanted to leave that staying was costing her something. He made a decision. Lauren, “Would you like to go?” he asked. She nodded, not trusting her voice. They both stood. Daniel helped her with her chair, a small gesture, but one that felt significant in the moment.

Running away, Richard taunted. Typical. Daniel turned back. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but something in it made the entire table freeze. I’m going to tell you something, Richard, and I want you to remember it. The way you treat people when you think they can’t do anything about it reveals everything about your character and yours is profoundly lacking.

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