There’s a folder on my desk. I notice it only because of the contrast between my antique white desk and the black leather. I open it and see neatly filed invitations with sticky notes from Shea on how to dress. The sticky note on top is from Daddy.Please plan on attending with me. Dress appropriately.I frown and pull out the invitations, flipping them over one-by-one. Private dinners with ambassadors, fundraiser balls, public charities … there are invitations from all kinds of events that Daddy routinely goes to. That Molly or Mom used to go to with him. Some are as early as this week and some not for another few weeks. One is for a military ball in December.I place them side-by-side on the desk, not surprised to see they cover most of the surface. Snapping a picture with my phone, I send it to Molly. I finish reading through them. One catches my attention. Annual Policemen’s Ball. I snap a picture of it, too, and then pull up a blank text. I’ve saved Dom’s number. I type in his name to populate his number and hesitate.
