Now, we were simply walking beside each other.
“I just finally learned that loving her doesn’t mean deciding who she should become.”
“My mistake,” he answered softly.
“What is this?”
He handed me the oldest journal.
I opened the first page.
September 14
Ashley raised her hand in biology today.
Only once.
She almost apologized afterward.
The next page.
October 2
She ordered lunch without asking me what she should get.
He handed me the oldest journal.
Another.
November 18
Ashley disagreed with our history teacher.
She looked terrified.
I’m proud of her.
I turned pages faster.
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They weren’t accomplishments.
Confidence.
Every tiny moment I’d stood a little straighter.
Every time I trusted my own voice.
She looked terrified.
Not one entry celebrated my grades.
Or promotions.
Or awards.
Only me.
The girl I’d never believed was enough.
Tears spilled onto the paper.
Matthew spoke quietly.
“I noticed something when we were fifteen.”
