“No child should have to be hungry while everyone else is throwing food away.”
For one painful moment, Isabella saw the person she had become.
She had built a foundation dedicated to helping children, yet she was prepared to remove a hungry child simply because his appearance threatened the perfection of her event.
Matthew sat back down beside Luke.
“We’re not so different,” he said.
Isabella frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Matthew rolled up the sleeve of his white dress shirt, revealing the light-brown birthmark on the inside of his forearm.
It was shaped like an oak leaf, divided by a thin pale line.
Then he carefully lifted the torn sleeve of Luke’s shirt.
The entire ballroom seemed to stop breathing.
Luke had the same birthmark.
Not something similar.
Not merely the same color or shape.
It was identical.
The same oak leaf.
The same curved edges.
The same thin white line crossing through the middle.
Isabella’s champagne glass slipped from her fingers.
It shattered against the marble floor.
The room blurred around her.
Her father had carried that mark.
She had inherited it.
