By four o’clock that afternoon, Sophie had already changed her mind about her dress three times.

The first dress was pale blue with tiny embroidered flowers around the collar. She said it made her look like a school curtain.

The second was yellow and had a ribbon tied at the back. She liked it until she discovered the ribbon made sitting against a chair uncomfortable.

The third dress was soft pink, simple except for a row of pearl-colored buttons down the front.

Sophie stood on the rug in our bedroom and turned slowly in front of the mirror.

“This one,” she decided.

“You’re certain?” I asked.

She gave me the serious look she used whenever she believed adults were asking unnecessary questions.

“I was certain about the yellow one before I sat down.”

“That is true.”

“I tested this one.”

She climbed onto the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed, sat upright, leaned backward, and bounced twice.

“Perfect,” she announced.

I smiled despite the tightness that had been growing in my stomach since breakfast.

The Hartwell Foundation Gala happened every November. Nathan’s family treated it as if it were both a charitable event and a royal ceremony. Two hundred donors, local business owners, hospital administrators, politicians, and people who wanted photographs proving they knew those people would spend the evening beneath chandeliers at the Somerset Grand Hotel.

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