And the other students made room for her.
Not because they felt sorry for her.
Because they respected her.
As I watched her beneath the lights, I thought about the little girl who had once sat on her father’s lap while he called her his brave girl.
Now she was standing on her own.
She hadn’t stopped missing him.
She hadn’t forgotten the pain.
She had simply learned that carrying someone you love doesn’t always mean carrying their absence.
Sometimes it means carrying what they taught you.
And as Wren smiled beneath the lights, I could almost hear Matt’s voice again.
“That’s my brave girl.”
