“Whatever happens, Mom…”
He swallowed.
“…sit somewhere I can see you.”
So I did.
Third row.
Exactly where he asked.
THEN THEY CALLED HIS NAME
“Ethan Bennett.”
My heart stopped.
He walked onto the stage.
The laughter followed.
He crossed under the lights in Mary’s red dress.
Shook the principal’s hand.
Accepted his diploma.
Then turned.
But instead of joining the other graduates—
Ethan came down the stage steps.
He started walking up the center aisle.
Straight toward me.
Whispers followed him.
Another laugh.
Someone nearby said:
“Is he actually doing this?”
Ethan kept coming.
When he reached the third row—
he stopped in front of me.
For the first time all day—
his composure broke.
His eyes were wet.
“This is for you.”
I stared up at him.
Then he whispered:
“For both of them.”
“Both of what?”
Ethan reached into the pocket of the red dress.
