Page 75 of The Truth of Us

Margot swatted him, and Oliver laughed. The sound settled somewhere deep inside me.

It was warm and effortless, the exact opposite of how living in Elliot’s orbit had felt. With Elliot, every interaction was a high-wire act, a sharp, consuming spike of adrenaline that kept my pulse racing and my stomach in knots.

What I felt right now wasn't thrilling. It was safe.

A month ago, I might have mistaken safety for boredom. Tonight, it felt like finally taking a full breath of air.

Later, as dinner was winding down and conversations split into smaller groups, I stood beside my father near the fireplace. He handed me a fresh glass of wine, and I took it.

"Having a good time?" he asked.

I smiled. "I forgot what it was like to enjoy parties."

His eyes softened. "You're smiling more."

The observation caught me off guard. "Am I?"

"Yes."

Before I could respond, another guest approached. Then another, and another. The conversations shifted naturally toward work. Toward the foundation, and Montgomery International. Questions I would have avoided a month ago suddenly didn't seem so intimidating.

"What do you think?"

I glanced toward my father; he remained silent, letting me answer. I thought about Lucy, about advocacy. About the women and families I'd met through charity work over the years, how often people with resources wrote checks and convinced themselves that was enough.

Then I said, "I think stories matter." The small group around us fell silent, so I continued. "I think people care more when they can see the human side of something." A few heads nodded. Encouraged, I kept going. "Most organizations spend too much time talking about numbers and not enough time talking about people."

My father's expression remained carefully neutral. But I knew him; I knew that look. He was listening. Not to his daughter, but to a future partner, and ‌that realization didn’t terrify me like I thought it would.

I felt eyes on me, and when I looked up, I saw Oliver watching me with a big smile on his face.

His smile should not have affected me, but it did. Not because there was anything flirtatious about it. There wasn't. It was pride. Uncomplicated pride. Like he was happy to see me succeeding. Like he didn't need to be the smartest person in the room to feel important.

The realization hit me harder than it should have. For so long I had surrounded myself with people who measured worth in achievement. In appearances. In what could be gained from a connection. Yet standing here, surrounded by people who had known me since I was a little girl running through these halls with grass stains on my knees, none of them seemed interested in what I could do for them. They were simply happy that I was home. A warmth settled low in my chest. One I wasn't entirely sure what to do with.

"Well," Grant Hastings announced loudly from across the room. "Now that we've all established Alexander's daughter is considerably smarter than the rest of us, can we eat dessert?"

The room erupted in laughter.

My father rolled his eyes. "You realize she gets that from me."

"Absolutely not," Margot said immediately.

"Not a chance," Grant agreed.

Oliver raised his glass. "We all know Sophie was the brains of the operation."

My father's offended expression only made everyone laugh harder, and I took the moment to simply watch them. Grant and my father bicker, while Margot attempts to referee, and Oliver makes things worse. The familiar rhythm of people who had spent decades in each other's lives. People who had celebrated weddings and births together, who had sat through funerals together, and knew exactly where every scar was and loved each other, anyway.

The ache that accompanied thoughts of my mother and Will never really disappeared. But for the first time in years it wasn't the loudest thing in the room. Maybe healing wasn't moving on, or hiding. Maybe it was learning how to carry grief without letting it eclipse everything else. I was still thinking about that when my father cleared his throat. The room quieted almost immediately. His hand settled lightly between my shoulder blades.

"I know many of you have already heard pieces of this," he began. "But I thought it was time to make it official."

My father looked down at me briefly before returning his attention to the room.

"Harper will join Montgomery International and take a leadership role within the Foundation."

The reaction was immediate. Smiles and excitement.