“And the winner is… Henry Chase!”
Cheers explode around us. I blink, stunned, before bursting into laughter — partly from shock, partly from pure joy. Henry stands, smiling — reallysmiling— before winking at me and heading to the stage again.
He’s speechless at first. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, steadying himself.
“I… honestly did not expect this,” he says. “I want to thank my father. He was the one who placed creativity in my hands, quite literally, with my first Lego set.”
The crowd laughs softly.
“He has always encouraged me, supported me, and believed in me. And I am endlessly grateful.”
He pauses. Something shifts in his expression.
“There’s someone else I’d like to thank. Someone very dear to me. Someone without whom I would not be standing here tonight. Matilda has been by my side for four years. Her unwavering support — professionally and personally — has shaped not only my work, but me. This award is not mine alone. It belongs to her too.”
He looks directly at me.
Everything else disappears.
The applause is loud, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat. Tears slip down my cheeks before I even register them.
James quietly hands me a folded handkerchief.
“Thank you, my dear,” he says softly.
“For what?” My voice cracks.
“For bringing my son back to me.”
It’s the kind of sentence that fractures something open — something I’d been trying very hard to keep closed.
And just like that… I fall.
Twenty Nine
Henry
The awards draw to a close, applause still echoing faintly through the hall as the lights dim. Dad, Matilda, and I make our way toward the exit, weaving through clusters of people still buzzing with excitement. My chest is light, but there’s a nervous hum beneath it — a quiet urgency I can’t shake.
I ring Harrison, asking him to meet us out front. He’ll be taking Dad home tonight. I hesitate before I tell Dad I want to take Matilda somewhere afterward — part of me still feels guilty leaving him to travel alone. But he waves off my concern with that familiar, stubborn glint in his eye.
“Son, your mother would have been so proud of you tonight,” he says, as the car pulls up. “She’d be proud of you every day, but especially tonight.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, my voice thickening despite my best efforts. “That means a lot.”
He gives a crooked smile, knocking me lightly on the chin. “Now go win that girl’s heart.”
I laugh quietly, shaking my head. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when I’m right,” he says, before climbing into the car.
As the tail lights fade into the night, it’s just Matilda and me — standing under the glow of the streetlamps, a soft chill wrapping around us. I turn to her, heart thrumming in my throat.
“Come for a walk with me?” I ask, holding out my hand.
She smiles — that slow, easy smile that undoes me every time — and slips her hand into mine.
We walk in silence, our fingers laced together as the hum of London nightlife surrounds us. The air smells faintly of rain and street food, and for once, I’m not rushing anywhere. I’m just… content.
