Chapter 8
Ellie POV
The memories came in relentless waves, crashing against my resolve.
But it was the final wave that broke me. The one that washed me all the way here, to the quiet coast of Maine.
It happened at the Thorn Gala. The "Goodbye" masquerading as a charity event. The night the sky fell.
We were in the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza. I stood flanking my parents, leaning heavily on my cane for support. Across the room, Marcus was laughing at something Izzy had whispered in his ear.
Then, the sound.
A screech of tearing metal. The sickening pop of a straining cable giving way.
I looked up. The massive crystal chandelier above the center of the room detached.
It fell in slow motion-a glittering cloud of impending death.
I was standing directly in the impact zone. So were Marcus and Izzy.
"Ellie!"
My father lunged for me, tackling me sideways. We hit the floor hard, the marble biting into my hip as debris rained down around us like shrapnel.
I coughed, waving away the choking dust. I looked up.
Marcus was on the floor, too.
He was covering someone with his body. He was shielding them completely, his tuxedo back exposed to the shattered glass to protect the person beneath him.
It wasn't me.
It was Izzy.
He lifted his head, shaking shards of glass from his hair. He looked frantically beneath him. "Izzy? Are you hurt? Izzy!"
He didn't look for me. He didn't scan the rubble for his crippled wife.
He checked the woman who had caused the scene.
My mother gripped my hand, her nails digging into my palm. She saw it too. The whole room saw it.
"That's it," my father said, his voice shaking with quiet fury. "We're leaving. Now."
We walked out. Marcus didn't even see us go. He was too busy screaming for a medic to treat a scratch on Izzy's arm.
Two days later, I stood at the gate at JFK.
My parents hugged me tight.
"Are you sure you don't want us to tell him?" my mom asked, her voice thick with emotion.
"No," I said. "He'll figure it out when the silence gets too loud."
I boarded the plane. As we took off, I looked down at the grid of New York City. From up here, the penthouse was just a speck. Marcus was just a speck.
For the first time in years, I felt lighter.
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