At his honors ceremony, I wore a dress that had waited in the back of my closet for something to celebrate. His father and stepmother managed to appear polished for the cameras; habit is a powerful costume. Ethan’s name was called for academic excellence and another medal I can’t remember because my eyes were blurry by then. He took the microphone and steadied it with two hands.
“I wouldn’t be standing here without one person,” he said. “Not my biological father. Not my stepmother. The person who saved my life is in the third row.”
