He had been too young.
Barely more than a baby.
But I remembered everything.
I remembered the hospital lights.
The cold hallway.
The sound of machines.
And the moment I was finally allowed to hold my son.
I remembered what I had whispered to him when nobody else was listening.
I had promised him that no matter how difficult his life became, he would never have to be ashamed of who he was.
I had promised him that he would never have to make himself smaller just to make other people comfortable.
And then life happened.
School happened.
Friends happened.
Expectations happened.
Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten the promise I made that night.
Ethan hadn’t.
He remembered it because I had told him the story years earlier.
He had remembered every word.
The red dress suddenly made sense.
It wasn’t about shocking his classmates.
It wasn’t about making a statement.
