About Cassandra
I wish her no harm—only clarity. Wealth can buy chandeliers but not respect. She’ll likely build a life that suits her. We built one that holds us.
The Price of Worth
Strangers still stop me in grocery aisles to say they cried watching that clip. I nod and smile, but this is the part no one uploads: quiet Sundays, basil on the sill, the way Liam checks my porch light at dusk, Lila’s whispers into Grace’s hair as she settles under that “worthless” quilt.
Epilogue: What Lasts
I’m old. My hands tremble. My eyes blur. But one thing I see clearly: the house Henry built still holds laughter; the boy I raised became a man who knows the weight of love; the child wrapped in our story will grow up knowing the difference between price and worth.
That ballroom night was meant to diminish me. Instead, it measured everyone there. And when the measuring was done, only the true things remained:
A hand that doesn’t let go. A name carefully stitched. A home built on respect. Love, as a verb.
