Rachel should have been sitting beside me.
That thought came every year during important moments.
First day of kindergarten.
First school dance.
Driver’s license.
College acceptance.
And now this.
I glanced toward the sky.
“You better have a good seat,” I whispered.
The ceremony began.
Speeches.
Applause.
Scholarship announcements.
Then the principal approached the microphone.
“We have one final tradition before presenting diplomas.”
Parents began shifting excitedly.
I already knew about this part.
Each graduate had chosen one person who had helped them reach this milestone.
That person would meet them beside the field and walk with them toward the stage.
Lily had never told me directly that she had chosen me.
She didn’t need to.
Who else would it be?
I had packed every lunch.
Sat beside every hospital bed.
Built every science project at midnight.
Learned how to braid hair badly because Rachel wasn’t there to teach me.
Worked overtime so Lily could take piano lessons.
Stayed awake on prom night until I heard her key in the front door.
I wasn’t perfect.
But I had been there.
Every single day.
Names began being called.
A boy walked with his mother.
A girl chose her grandfather.
Another student crossed with his favorite teacher.
Then the principal smiled.
“Lily Bennett.”
My heart jumped.
