Loretta gasped sharply, her cleaning cloth slipping from startled fingers as she found herself suddenly, unexpectedly wrapped in her son's arms, his tuxedo jacket pressing against her plain uniform, his shoulders shaking with the force of tears he'd apparently been suppressing for considerably longer than the last few seconds.
"Ethan?" Her voice came out barely audible, disbelief coloring every syllable as she registered, slowly, that the well-dressed young man kneeling in front of her, weeping openly, was actually her own son — the boy she hadn't spoken to in eight painful years, the boy whose success she'd followed quietly from a distance through occasional mentions in the local news, never once imagining she might encounter him directly at the very company gala she'd been hired to help clean.
Nearby guests had begun to gather at a cautious distance, their expressions carrying a mixture of confusion and thinly veiled judgment, several exchanging uncertain whispers about the young executive suddenly kneeling on the ballroom floor, embracing a member of the cleaning staff with an intensity none of them could immediately explain.