It was a bright, vibrantly warm, unimaginably beautiful Saturday afternoon in late August. The sky over the coastline was an endless, vibrant expanse of azure blue, completely free of clouds.

I was thirty-two years old, and my life was a fully realized, joyful triumph.

I was hosting a massive, loud, incredibly joyous second birthday party for Leo in the sprawling, lush green backyard of our estate. The air was filled with upbeat music, the smell of catered food, and the genuine, uninhibited laughter of my chosen family.

I was surrounded by close friends, colleagues who respected my brilliant architectural work, and my mother, Victoria, who brought true, uncomplicated joy and absolute security to our lives.

Leo, now two years old, was running across the thick grass. He was strong, fast, and completely fearless. A huge, radiant, gap-toothed smile lit up his face as he chased a brightly colored balloon that had escaped from the patio.

I stood near the edge of the stone terrace, holding a glass of sweet iced tea.