FOR WEEKS, I HAD REFUSED TO CRY IN FRONT OF ETHAN
I kept telling myself:
He lost his sister.
He needs his mother to be strong.
So I cooked.
Handled paperwork.
Answered relatives.
Sorted Mary’s things.
Pretended strength meant staying upright.
But inside that auditorium—
with Mary’s red dress between us and her yellow flower resting in Ethan’s hand—
I fell apart.
“She wanted you to have the flower.”
I shook my head against his shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would have stopped me.”
He was right.
“I almost did anyway.”
“I know.”
Nearby, one mother who had laughed earlier lowered her eyes.
Another covered her mouth.
Then someone asked:
“Was that his sister’s dress?”
The answer moved through the auditorium.
His twin sister.
Mary.
She died.
She was supposed to graduate too.
That was her dress.
She had asked him to wear it.
