"You make such a lovely couple. How long have you two been together?" The woman's compliment seemed very sincere, but Ember froze anyway, her fork halfway to her mouth.
"We're not together," I said quickly. "Ms. Harrison is my assistant and serves as Hearthkeeper in an official capacity."
"Oh," she said, sucking in a breath. "Well, my apologies. I could just see how fond she is of you. What a pleasure to have an assistant with such an affinity for her boss.”
The donor chuckled and gestured at us with his wine glass. "You have to admit, Bradley, it looks more like a daddy-daughter date than a Hearthkeeper partnership. The age gap is rather noticeable."
The table went quiet except for the clinking of silverware on plates.
I felt tension rising in my chest over the comment, humiliation and anger knotting together.
Ember had gone very still beside me, and her head ducked low again as tears brimmed in her eyes.
"That's an inappropriate comment," I said coldly.
The donor waved a dismissive hand. "Come now, no offense intended. Just making an observation. She's young enough to be your daughter, that's all."
"She's also sitting right here and can hear you," I said. "And her age has no bearing on her competence or her suitability for theHearthkeeper role. I'd appreciate it if you'd show her the respect she deserves."
The donor blinked, taken aback by my tone.
His wife touched his arm and offered an apologetic expression.
Another board member across the table cleared his throat, which cut through some of the tension, and I was glad. Insulting a donor was a bad move, but he'd been completely out of line.
"Dr. Bradley is right," he said. "That was out of line. We should be celebrating the partnership, not making crude jokes about it."
The donor had the grace to look embarrassed. "You're right. I apologize, Ms. Harrison. That was in poor taste."
Ember nodded, but she didn't speak.
I saw her hands trembling slightly in her lap, and I wanted to grab the donor by his expensive tie and throw him out of the ballroom.
Instead, I reached under the table and took her hand.
She startled slightly, then squeezed my fingers.
The gesture was brief, barely noticeable, but it steadied her and she blinked back those tears like a warrior.
The conversation moved on to safer topics—the auction, the new pediatric wing, the upcoming holiday season.
But the damage was done.
I could see Ember withdrawing, her responses becoming more mechanical, her smile never reaching her eyes.
She picked at her dessert without eating it, and when the speeches began, she stared at the stage with unfocused eyes.
I leaned close and whispered, "Are you all right?"
"Fine," she whispered back. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't fine.
I knew that look, saw it on her face as she tried to hold herself together during the naming ceremony.
I wanted to pull her out of the ballroom immediately, to get her away from these people and their cruelty.
But the speeches dragged on and on.
