I looked out the window at the falling snow, my mind racing with thoughts of Friday night.

The text from Mark felt like a ghost reaching out from a grave I had spent months trying to dig.

I deleted the message, but the knot in his name left in my stomach remained.

I spent the next two days throwing myself into my shifts at Harborview, hoping the exhausting routine of the pediatric ward would drown out the dread.

The night of the gala arrived with a bitter wind that swept off the Boston Harbor.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, smoothing the fabric of the emerald silk dress.

It was a beautiful dress, one I had bought during a brief moment of hope before the divorce.

I stepped into my black heels, grabbed my velvet clutch, and headed out into the freezing night.

The streets of Brookline were quiet, the snow muffling the sound of the tires as I drove toward the downtown hotel.

The grand ballroom of the hotel adjacent to the hospital was filled with the scent of pine and expensive perfume.