futures that had almost been denied to them.
Lena looked at her sister, then at the photograph, then at the bright room full of women whose names were finally being spoken correctly.
For ten years, she had hidden her fortune to protect her life.
Now she understood that the greater wealth was not being seen by everyone.
It was choosing who was allowed to see her clearly.
She slipped the photograph into her coat pocket, touched Brielle’s shoulder once, and walked toward the stage where her name was waiting—not as a secret, not as an apology, but as the truth.
