DAX'S POV
He had planned to do this differently.
He had planned a dinner — the terrace, the good table, the specific bottle he had been keeping since May, something true said well. He had, in fact, written notes. Four points. Not a speech — he didn't do speeches — but the accurate thing, organized clearly.
What happened instead was a Wednesday.
She was at the desk at nine in the morning. The October light through the windows. Isolde in the high chair, focused on the self-feeding project with the intensity she brought to all research. He came from his office with the box and set it on the desk beside her laptop and said nothing.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
"What is this," she said.
"Open it," he said.
"What is it," she said again.
"Remi."
"I'm asking before I open it," she sai
