"I'm not here to talk about the operating room or the lives I've saved. I want to take you somewhere else somewhere raw, somewhere real. I want to tell you about the boy I was before I became the man you see."
The room grew deathly quiet, the clink of glasses fading to nothing, the quartet's notes hovering like a held breath, their bows trembling in anticipation.
Devon's gaze drifted, not to the crowd but to a distant memory, his voice softening, carrying a tremor that pierced the air like a blade. "I was born too early, premature, fragile, barely clinging to life. My father couldn't stand the sight of me. He called me a mistake, a burden, refused to even acknowledge I was his. My mother…" He paused, his throat tightening, the words heavy with a pain so old it seemed to bleed from his voice.
