Ethan took the mic, drink in hand, confidence radiating off him. He started with the usual clichés—fate, second chances, perfect timing. People laughed on cue.
Then his tone shifted.
“I’ll be honest,” he said with a grin, “walking away from that mess was the best decision of my life.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
My chest tightened as heads turned toward me.
Beside me, Noah set down his fork.
Ethan wasn’t done. “Sometimes you’ve got to clear out your mistakes to make room for something better.”
Even Lila laughed.
I stood up so quickly my chair scraped loudly across the floor.
But Noah touched my arm.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he said softly.
Then he stood—and walked toward the center of the room.
The chatter faded into silence as he crossed the floor.
Ethan smirked. “Well, looks like my son has something to say.”
Noah held out his hand. “Can I use the microphone?”
Ethan handed it over, still amused.
Noah took it, then bent down and picked up a small wrapped box.
“I brought you a gift,” he said.
People leaned in.
Ethan chuckled as he opened it.
Then he screamed.
Everything stopped.
The lid hit the floor. Lila stood up in confusion. Guests froze mid-breath.
I rushed forward, heart pounding.
Inside the box wasn’t anything dangerous.
It was worse.
Photographs.
