“I know.”
“One Christmas.”
“I know.”
“One ordinary Tuesday.”
His face crumpled.
“I know.”
I stepped away from them.
“Do you know what it was like sitting in those lecture halls while people laughed at me, then going home knowing my own sons thought the same thing?”
Neither answered.
“There were nights when I thought I’d made a mistake. There were exams I nearly failed. I sat at that kitchen table at 1:00 A.M. wondering if I’d become some pathetic old man pretending to be young.”
Ryan’s eyes dropped.
“But school gave me a reason to wake up after your mother died.”
“A reason to live,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“We understand that now.”
“When?”
“Too late.”
The doorbell rang again.
David managed a small smile.
“That might be one of your professors.”
“You invited my professors?”
“Two of them.”
I shook my head.
Then Ryan pulled another photograph from the box.
It was me crossing the graduation stage that afternoon.
“How did you get this?”
“We were there,” he said.
My head snapped up.
“At graduation?”
David nodded.
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