Doyle, with his burned face, glanced at me, but I felt no hostility from him. Instead of anger, his eyes showed resignation.
Arnold Johnson started walking down the grand staircase, with Monica by his side, holding his arm to help him.
The room got really quiet, and everyone turned to look at him. His shiny, Italian leather shoes made a soft sound as they touched each marble step.
When they reached the bottom, Arnold stood up straight and let go of Monica's arm.
He cleared his throat and looked around the room, as if assessing everyone. "Welcome, everyone," he said in a strong voice. "I'm glad you could join our family for the gathering."
He then walked up to the center of the atrium.
It was his birthday, but there were no balloons, no cake, and no festive decorations.
One by one, his family approached him.
Sam was the first. The guests gave him space to walk up to his father.