“I know.”
“But you can.”
“I know.”
“Text when you get there.”
“Mom.”
“Right. Sorry.”
She smiled and pressed her forehead to mine.
“Promises count,” she whispered.
My heart folded and unfolded.
“Yes,” I whispered back. “They do.”
Then she walked into her dorm carrying two bags, one backpack, and a cracked panda mug wrapped in a sweatshirt.
I stood beside Eli, crying behind sunglasses that fooled no one.
Daniel blew his nose into a napkin and denied it.
Ryan stood a few feet away, quiet.
For once, he did not make the moment about himself.
That was his gift to her that day.
Small.
Late.
Real enough.
On the drive home, Eli reached across the console and took my hand.
“You raised her well.”
“We did,” I said.
He nodded.
“We did.”
Outside the window, the highway unrolled ahead of us.
For the first time in years, I thought of Dallas without pain.
