"We love you," Callan said, gesturing to himself and the twins. "Go up there and make us proud."
"We love you, Mom," Isla said, wrapping her arms around Orla's legs and laughing as her mother bent to ruffle her hair.
"I love you, mommy." Leor joined his sister in encouraging their mother.
Even though they didn't fully grasp the significance of the moment, their enthusiasm and words meant the world to Orla.
She kissed Callan before making her way to join her colleagues at the front.
Gliding gracefully to the front seat, Orla captivated everyone present with her ethereal gown. Midnight blue satin cascaded elegantly, accentuating her form, while delicate lace embroidery caught the soft light, adding a subtle shimmer.
Each step blended the rustle of fabric with the click of her silver stilettos, an epitome of elegance.
With confidence and grace, she commanded attention, captivating all who beheld her.
Callan smiled proudly, that was his woman.
The mother of his children.
Once Orla departed, Isla nestled onto her father's lap, securing her place before her brother could intervene. Munching on her snack, she glanced up at her father with innocent curiosity.
"Daddy, why do you call Mom 'baby'? She's not a baby," she queried, her voice a mixture of innocence and inquiry.
Callan chuckled, a familiar response to Isla's inquisitiveness. "Ah, Isla," he began, tenderly adjusting the bracelet adorning her wrist. "Your mom is my baby."
Isla, undeterred, countered, "No, Dad. I'm your baby. Mommy is older. She's not a baby." Her lips puckered into a pout, her puppy-like eyes pleading her case in the most endearing manner. "And Leor, we are babies. Mommy is not a baby."
Meanwhile, Leor remained absorbed in his game, oblivious to the familial discourse unfolding before him. It wasn't until he interrupted with his own question that his presence was fully acknowledged.
"Dad, why isn't Mom with us?" Leor's query hung in the air, demanding attention. "Can I go meet her? I want to sit with her."
Callan's response was firm yet gentle. "No, Leor," he began, shaking his head. "Your mom is out there making us proud. We have to give her time and space, big boy." He gestured to his lap, signaling for Leor to join him. "Mommy needs to concentrate."
As Isla excitedly pointed out her mother among her colleagues, Orla's smile mirrored her gratitude for her family and career.
Surrounded by her loved ones, she felt satisfied in the perfection of her life, holding onto and cherishing every moment.
It was perfect, her life was so perfect she wanted everything to remain that way forever.
As the awards ceremony progressed, Orla found joy in celebrating the successes of others, regardless of the outcome of her own nomination.
With each winner taking the stage, accompanied by their loved ones and proud smiles, Orla's happiness only grew.
In a competitive field like architecture, every victory was deserving, and she was prepared to applaud whoever received the final award, the category she was nominated for.
"It's been a grueling journey, yet I believe we can all attest to the deserving nature of our winners tonight," the host declared, his voice resonating through the hall.
A chorus of agreement erupted from the audience, a unified acknowledgment of the talent on display.
With a smile, the host consulted the note in his hand. "Before we unveil the final award, let us take a moment to acknowledge some distinguished guests in our midst today." Among the names listed was Callan's, greeted with applause from the audience.
"Are we all prepared for the climax? The award for Architect of the Year? The Architect with the most outstanding design?" the host queried and they responded affirmatively.
Silence enveloped the room as anticipation mounted. Every eye was fixed on the stage, eager to know who would be crowned the year's best architect. Each nominee had left an indelible mark with their exceptional designs.
In the midst of the tension, Orla found herself grappling with self-doubt. Her previous accolades felt insufficient as she questioned the ability of her design for the city's recreational park. Despite the praise and attention it garnered, she couldn't shake the feeling that she should have done more, something bigger, something better than a city's recreational park.
"For our final award, we are privileged to have someone familiar to present it," the host announced, his gaze lingering on the note in his hand. "This award holds immense significance within the architectural community, and with the caliber of our nominees, I have no doubt that each one is deserving."
A co-host, clad in a sharp, navy suit with a burgundy tie, interjected, "Absolutely! Let's give a warm welcome to Callan Barlowe as he graces the stage to reveal our winner."
Callan, taken aback by the unexpected mention of his name, hesitated momentarily.
Presenting awards wasn't unfamiliar to him, but his children were clinging onto his legs, and he couldn't refuse the call either. "Let's go," he murmured to his twins, guiding them towards the podium amidst the thunderous applause of the audience.
"Thank you for answering our call, Mr. Barlowe," the co-host acknowledged, passing him the card and microphone.
Graciously, Callan acknowledged the nominees before him, his expression faltering as he realized the weight of the moment.
Summoning a smile, he prepared to announce the winner.But before he could utter a name, Isla's excited exclamation pierced the air.
"Mommy! Look at Mommy!" she cried, breaking free from the co-host's grasp and darting toward where Orla sat.
Leor followed suit, and laughter erupted throughout the hall at their display.
Embracing her children, Orla's heart raced as Callan stood on stage, holding the card.
He wasn't even looking at her to give her hints. He wasn't looking at her.
Orla sighed, giving up. Maybe the award wasn't meant for her after all.
Maybe it was destined to elude her grasp.
Fascination sparked in Callan's eyes as they remained focused on the card before him.
Setting down the microphone, he glanced up, his gaze sweeping across the room, taking in the faces of everyone present.
Orla sighed again. "It was time."
Author's note:
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