Divorce papers.
The silence that followed was the sound of triumph—for them. They wanted tears, pleading, maybe even a scene.
Then, before anyone could react, I reached into my purse and pulled out my own envelope—plain white, no ribbon, no theatrics.
“I have something to share, too,” I said.
I slid the letter onto the table. The gold crest of the Jefferson Grand glimmered under the chandelier.
“Three days ago, while you were preparing this, I received an offer from the Jefferson Grand in Washington, D.C.—Guest Services Manager, full benefits, housing included. I start next month.”
A ripple of shock moved through the crowd. Glasses lowered. Phones froze mid-record.
From the corner of the room came the first sound—applause.
A few of my fellow service members, standing near the doorway, had been invited by Ryan’s grandfather. Their clapping grew louder, proud and steady.
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