The Gold Gown
The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. David looked at the glass—the pristine, untouched glass—and then back at his daughter. The person he had built a life with, the woman he had trusted with his soul for a decade, was not the person he thought he knew.
Before he could process the implications, a soft rustle of fabric echoed from the hallway.
David turned. Standing in the doorway, framed by the shadows, was Sarah. She was wearing a floor-length gold gown, the kind reserved for galas and anniversaries. She held a glass of champagne in one hand, looking like a queen who had just walked out of a fairy tale.
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But her face was white as a sheet.
Her eyes darted from David to the glass on the counter, and then to Mia, who was still huddled by the dog bowl. The moment their eyes met, the mask of grace dropped.
