Then the line beneath it.
Tom Bennett.
Her shoulders go still.
She reads it again.
Then she turns.
Her face changes—wide eyes, parted lips—but I can't tell if she's angry or surprised or—
"Tom," she says. Her voice sounds thin. "This is—"
She doesn't finish. She turns back to the wall, staring at the images like she's trying to make sense of them.
I don't move.
She takes another step, stops at the woman leaning out the third-floor window. Arms braced on the sill, suspended between the building and the air.
"Tom." She turns back to me. "I mean, your photography is beautiful." She pauses, searching for words. "But this is… I don't know. Something else. This is on a whole other plane."
My shoulders loosen a little.
I take a breath. "I watched you submit the Harbor project even when you weren't sure. So I finally did this."
Her eyes widen.
"I shot this series three years ago and never showed it to anyone. I watched you chase your dream with the Harbor Project. Then I watched you submit a design you weren't surewould win—and you did it anyway." I gesture toward the wall with a small tilt of my head. "It's here because of you."
Sam's face changes—her mouth opening slightly before closing again. Her hands rise to her mouth, fingertips pressed together.
She brushes at her cheek quickly, surprised. Another tear follows.
I step forward without thinking, thumb catching it before it reaches her jaw."Hey, what's wrong?" I shift closer and tilt my head, waiting for her to look at me.
She laughs and shakes her head. "I don't know." She looks back at the wall. "It's just—these are so beautiful."
My thumb is still against her cheek. I drop my hand.
Before I can figure it out, a voice cuts in from behind us.
"You must be Mr. Bennett's talented girlfriend."
I turn.
Martha's approaching with that calm, assured smile she wears like armor. Navy blazer, tablet under her arm, white hair perfectly cut.
Sam blinks, looking a little confused.
Martha extends her hand. "I'm Martha."
Sam shakes it automatically. "Sam."
Martha gestures toward my work. "Mr. Bennett told me you were exhibiting in the other hall."
Sam glances at me. I'm watching her, not Martha.
"I am," Sam says.
