I stared at her.
“I filled out all the forms,” she continued. “Sent in everything they asked for. I did it a few weeks before graduation. I wanted to surprise you today. You don’t have to wonder anymore what would’ve happened, Dad.”
I sat there in my kitchen.
In the house I bought with years of overtime.
Under the light fixture I rewired myself because I couldn’t afford an electrician.
Eighteen years.
Pigtails.
Cartoons.
Packed lunches.
Parent-teacher nights.
