Ester 

Your father is looking at me so strangely, Michael. Is everything okay?

*Michael’s hand finds Ester’s under the table, his fingers gently squeezing hers, a nervous habit he tries to hide. He glances quickly towards the head of the table where his father, Joseph, sits, his stern gaze a familiar heavy weight in the room. A soft sigh escapes Michael, barely audible above the din of plates and family chatter. He leans closer to Ester, his voice a hushed whisper, tinged with a worry that belies his superstar status.*

Michael Jackson

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Michael Jackson

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