“Because I found the message.”
My breath stopped for half a second.
“What message?”
He pulled out his phone, opened an old photograph, and held the screen toward me.
It was a picture of Mom’s tablet on her kitchen counter. The display showed part of the text she had sent me the morning before graduation.
Sarah, your father and I have decided that we won’t be attending your graduation.
I looked away.
“Why do you have that?”
“I saw it last Christmas. She left the tablet open while she was cooking. I took a picture because I couldn’t believe what I was reading.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Derek swallowed.
“Because I was a coward.”
The answer was so direct that it took away the argument I had prepared.
He continued. “I told myself it was old. I told myself bringing it up would only start a fight. And if I’m being completely honest, part of me didn’t want to ruin the way they were celebrating me.”
There it was.
Not innocence.
Not cruelty either.
Weakness.
“I watched your graduation video after that,” he said. “The academy archive still had it. I found your name.”
My throat tightened.
He looked at me for the first time since we entered the corridor.
“You crossed that field alone.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded once.
“I can’t change that I wasn’t there,” he said. “But I should have understood what it meant before today.”
Footsteps approached.
Mom and Dad appeared at the end of the corridor.
Mom had been crying. Dad looked older than he had an hour earlier.
No one spoke at first.
