The murmurs continued building around them, several guests exchanging pointed, uncomfortable glances, apparently uncertain how to process the scene of their host's evidently successful young business partner sobbing openly in the arms of an elderly cleaning woman in the middle of their carefully curated evening.
Ethan remained entirely unaware of, or entirely indifferent to, the gathering attention, his face buried against his mother's shoulder, his tears soaking steadily into the plain fabric of her uniform. Eight years of unresolved regret, of pride too stubborn to make the first call, of a success he'd built specifically to prove himself worthy of the sacrifices she'd made, finally broke free all at once, indifferent entirely to the judgment of the watching crowd.
"Mom, I'm so sorry," he managed, his voice muffled and broken against her shoulder. "I should have called years ago. I should have never let this much time pass."