during autumn at a pumpkin farm.
Luke sat on my shoulders.
Violet held Cassandra’s hand.
None of us were looking directly at the camera.
We were laughing at something outside the frame.
On the back Cassandra had written:
Christmas Eve, one year later.
Then beneath it:
You showed up.
Tenía un acuerdo negociado por valor de miles de millones.
I had stood on stages before thousands of people.
I had been featured on magazine covers and business lists and conference banners.
Nothing had ever meant more than those three words.
