Friday morning arrived with a clarity that felt almost aggressive. The gray heaviness of Thursday had lifted, replaced by a crisp, cold brightness that sharpened the edges of the furniture and the shadows in the hallway. I woke up at six-thirty, exactly when the alarm sounded, but there was no lingering fog in my mind. Today was the donor dinner. The security protocols were set. The guest list was finalized. The venue was swept. There was no more planning to be done, only execution. That shift from preparation to action always brought a specific kind of focus. It narrowed the world down to the task at hand.
I slipped out of bed. Marcus was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hand. He was wearing his reading glasses, the ones he only used for screens. He loo
