He had said it that morning while we stood near the front door, both of us pretending we were ready for the day. “Whatever happens, Mom, stay where I can see you.”
So I stayed.
Aaron heard the laughter. He saw the cameras. He noticed the students leaning toward one another and the parents exchanging startled looks. Nothing escaped him. Still, he reached the principal, accepted his diploma, and shook her hand with a steadiness I did not feel in my own body.
When he turned away from the stage, I expected him to join his classmates. Instead, he walked down the steps and entered the center aisle.
The room grew louder. A girl near the aisle whispered, “Is he really going to do this?” Someone laughed again. A few phones followed Aaron as he moved toward me.
He stopped in front of my seat. For the first time that morning, his careful composure broke. His eyes shone, and his voice came out so quietly that I had to lean forward to hear him.
