It was the sound of leather being gripped tight.
Finn had long, elegant hands. As he clasped them together, his thumbs overlapped—a gesture of immense pressure, or perhaps deep restraint.
York sat in the middle, watching intently and whispering questions to Chloe.
"Mom, why did the little prince leave his rose?"
"Because he was foolish," Chloe whispered back, though her voice carried perfectly to Sienna. "He didn't know what was truly important."
Sienna's fingers twitched.
Didn't know what was important.
She remembered watching this very play with Finn seven years ago, when he had whispered to her, 'I'll never leave you.'
And then he did.
On stage, the Little Prince met the pilot.
The pilot asked:
"Why did you leave your rose?"
The Little Prince replied:
"I was too young to know how to love her."
The line hit like a stone dropping into a still pond.
Sienna felt the air to her left grow suffocatingly heavy.
She let her gaze sweep over casually.
Just in time to see Finn close his eyes.
His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she quickly looked away.
Chloe, sitting in the middle, caught Finn's expression.
She instinctively gripped York's hand tight.
"Mom, you're hurting me," York whimpered.
Chloe let go.
She didn't say a word, but her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.
She shot a sideways glare at Sienna.
The woman sat there staring at the stage, her expression totally serene, as if watching a story that had nothing to do with her.
But Chloe knew she cared.
There was no way she didn't care.
During intermission, Chloe suddenly spoke up.
"Finn, what do you think of the play?"
Finn didn't answer.
"I think the little prince is an idiot," Chloe continued, her voice pitched just loud enough for Sienna to hear.
"What's the point of regretting leaving the rose after he's already gone?"
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