“He deserves one perfect night,” I whispered, holding the envelope of cash. It was supposed to be a gift. Instead, it became the weapon he used to shatter everything I thought I knew about him.The kitchen table was covered in photographs, most of them yellowed at the corners, all of them showing the same quiet boy at different ages. I had been sorting them since breakfast, and the afternoon light had begun to slant across the linoleum without me noticing. Jeremiah’s whole childhood lay spread out in front of me, and somehow it still did not feel like enough. picked up a fourth-grade class picture and ran my thumb across his small, serious face. He stood at the end of the row, half a step apart from the other children, the way he always did.

Jeremiah’s voice drifted in from the hallway, soft and careful, the way he spoke about everything.”I had toast,” I lied.He walked into the kitchen in his socks — tall now, his shoulders narrow under a gray hoodie. He paused behind my chair and looked down at the photos without touching them.”You’re doing this again,” he said.I’m just remembering.””You remember a lot.”I reached up and squeezed his hand, the way I had done since he was small enough to fit under my arm.”I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. A top university. After everything.”He didn’t answer right away. He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, his eyes settling on the middle-school photo at the top of the pile — a girl with dark hair and a shy smile. Ella.”Have you thought any more about it?” he asked.I blinked at him.Thought about what?””What you said. About Ella.”My hand froze over the photographs. I had mentioned it once, late one night — half as a joke and half as a wish, that I would do anything to give him a real prom. I did not remember telling him I was actually considering it.