Vanessa hurried onto the stage, gripping Adrian’s arm. “Don’t listen to this. He’s just a street kid looking for attention,” she whispered, her tone sweet but tight.
Months earlier, Adrian had buried his mother, Helena. A sudden illness. Rapid decline. A closed casket “for health reasons.” A rushed cremation organized by Vanessa and the family physician.
“What did you say?” Adrian asked quietly.
The boy pulled something from his pocket and tossed it forward. It landed at Adrian’s feet.
A rosary with gold-toned beads.
Adrian bent down slowly. His fingers traced the cross and found a small scratch on the back—a mark he had carved as a child while sitting beside his mother during church.
“She said you’d know it,” the boy said. “She said you’d come.”
Adrian looked at Vanessa. Beneath the perfect makeup, he saw fear.
“The party’s over,” he said into the microphone, letting it fall.
Ignoring questions and flashing cameras, he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and walked out.
In his car, gripping the steering wheel, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Ethan,” the boy answered softly.