He said he was proud.
He asked to come to graduation.
I said no.
Henry said yes.
I didn’t understand that decision until the night it all unfolded.
The room was filled with families—flowers, cameras, pride. I kept smoothing my dress, trying to quiet the nerves I couldn’t explain.
And then Warren walked in.
Older, heavier, polished—but unmistakably the same man who had walked out of a hospital room without looking back.
He approached us like he belonged.
And then he looked at Henry.
Not at his face. Not at the man he had become.
At his legs.
