"Less noticeable," I reply, unlocking it with a beep that echoes through the garage. "Besides, I miss driving."
We pull out of the gates, and something tight in my chest finally loosens. The city unfolds around us, familiar and uncomplicated. I point out landmarks as we go—my old apartment building, the coffee shop where I used to work on weekend mornings, the bookstore with the cranky cat that sleeps in the window.
"Is that really your car?" Henry asks, running his hand along the slightly worn dashboard.
"Yep. I've had it since college."
"But you're rich now," he says, puzzled. "Don't you want something fancy?"
I laugh. "Being rich doesn't mean you have to throw away everything from before." I pat the steering wheel affectionately. "Sometimes the old things are the most comfortable. Like a favorite sweater with holes in it."
Henry considers this, nodding slowly. "Dad always says efficiency matters more than sentiment."
"Well," I say, turning onto the main road toward the convention center, "today we're choosing sentiment."
The convention center looms ahead, massive and buzzing with activity. Cars fill the parking lot, and people stream toward the entrance—some in elaborate costumes, others in t-shirts emblazoned with logos and characters.
Henry's eyes widen as we park. "It's bigger than I thought."
"Wait until we get inside."
CAMICon is everything at once. Lights. Sound. Color.
The main hall stretches endlessly, filled with booths and displays and activity zones. People in costume pose for photos, creating colorful traffic jams. Announcements echo overhead, barely audible above the collective hum of thousands of excited voices.
Henry clutches my arm, overwhelmed and thrilled. "This is amazing!"
I breathe easily for once. No house staff. No rules.
Just movement and laughter and a kid who is happy to be here with me.
We weave through the crowds, pausing at booths that catch Henry's eye. I buy him a limited edition New Age of Legends figurine that probably costs more than it should. He cradles it reverently, already planning where he'll display it in his room.
"Did you know they're adding a whole new realm in the next expansion?" Henry asks, launching into an explanation of game lore I only half-follow. I listen anyway, nodding at the right moments, because his excitement matters more than my comprehension.
We pass through different zones—gaming areas where people test new releases, panel rooms with lines snaking out the doors, a massive merchandise hall that stretches the length of a football field.
"Look!" Henry points to a poster listing celebrity appearances. "They have Elias Morgan from Shadow Realms! And Kayla Winters—she writes the books that got turned into that streaming series."
I scan the list, recognizing a few names—an actor from a popular streaming show, a fashion heir with a branded installation, a children's book illustrator with a signing line that wraps around the hall.
It's all background noise. This is his world right now, and for a moment, it feels like I belong in it too.
"Can we go to the gaming pavilion next?" Henry asks, already tugging me in that direction. "They have demo stations for unreleased titles."
"Lead the way," I laugh, letting him pull me through the crowd.
A woman smiles at me in the merchandise hall, her gaze lingering just a second too long. Then recognition clicks. Her eyes widen—not dramatically, but with certainty.
"Are you—" she starts, already reaching for her phone. "You're the lottery winner, right? The one who married the tech billionaire?"
My stomach dips. I've learned the script by now. Smile. Nod. Don't be rude. Don't make a scene.
I glance down at Henry, who's distracted by something shiny behind a booth.
"Just a quick photo," she says, sidling closer. "My sister won't believe me."
I step to the side, keeping it brief, angling my body away from Henry to avoid dragging him into the frame. I tell myself he's right there. That I can see him. That this is fine.
