“Our dad gave us everything we needed,” Lily said. “He taught us to face hard things directly, even when the answer might hurt. And sometimes growing up means asking questions your family was afraid to ask.”
The words hit me like cold water.
Gabriella went pale.
That was when I understood.
I sat there gripping the edge of my chair while Lily finished speaking.
I wanted to stand up.
I wanted to stop the ceremony, stop the morning, stop time itself if I had to.
Instead, I sat there gripping the edge of my chair while Lily finished speaking. She thanked the teachers who had refused to treat blindness like a tragedy. She thanked her sisters for making her brave. She thanked me for showing them that love was not something you said once and then disappeared from.
The crowd applauded.
And just like that, I finally felt my anger fade, after all these years.
