“Tonight,” he said, voice warm, practiced, “this cause means even more to me. Because love is also about choosing someone. Publicly. Fearlessly.”
My ears rang.
A velvet box appeared in his hand.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Hanabi stepped onto the stage.
My parents’ adopted daughter. The girl who called me big sister. The one who cried in my arms when men hurt her. The one who said, Brother-in-law is family. Don’t be weird.
She wore white.
Of course she did.
Gusion dropped to one knee.
Right there. In a hospital filled with dying children. In front of donors and doctors and cameras. In front of my daughter.
“Will you marry me?” he asked softly. “Please say yes, baby.”
Hanabi covered her mouth, tears spilling. She nodded again and again. “Yes. Yes, I will. I love you.”
Applause thundered.
My parents stood. Clapped. Smiled.
Phones lifted. Videos recorded. A proposal turned into a headline.
The ring slid onto her finger. A diamond so large it caught the lights and fractured them into something blinding.
Something inside my chest split open and never closed.