Instinctively, my hand went to the pocket on the costume's belly, because ten years ago, when Bertram had confessed his feelings, he'd hidden his gift in that exact spot.
Through the tiny mesh eyeholes, I saw an elegant red velvet box.
My fingers found the ring on my own left hand. The one whose color had long since worn away. I rubbed it without thinking.
The bitterness wouldn't leave.
Under everyone's gaze, I silently chanted my father's name like a prayer and walked forward like a bridesmaid, presenting a ring to my own husband and his so-called foster sister.
But when Alexis reached for the velvet box, Bertram snatched it away first.
"Don't touch it. God knows how many germs are on that thing. I don't want you getting hurt."
The disgust in his eyes nailed my feet to the floor.
Ten years ago, when Bertram had confessed to me, I'd laughed and told him he actually looked pretty good in that costume. He'd kept those words close to his heart.
From that day on, the man who commanded boardrooms and crushed rivals had personally washed this mascot costume on a regular schedule.
Because he believed it was the token of our love. The keepsake of everything we were.