Clinton and Cameron had already drunk more than usual. The room had softened, voices lower now, more honest, like old guards letting their shields down for a moment.
Clinton looked at Cameron with a rare kind of sympathy. "All these years… still searching for your child. Have you found anything at all?"
For a second, her expression changed.
The calm, controlled surface cracked just slightly.
"It has been over twenty years," she said quietly. "Still nothing. No trace. Sometimes I wonder… if she's even alive."
The words carried weight, heavier than the glass in her hand. Even the air around the table felt still for a moment, like everyone understood they were touching something painful.
Clinton sighed, softer now. "Don't lose hope. These things… they find their way back eventually."
I had eaten too much by then. The rich food sat heavy in my stomach, and a strange wave of discomfort rose without warning. I pressed my hand lightly against my abdomen and stood up.
