Over the years, I had answered her questions as gently as I could.
I told her he had left before she was born.
That he hadn’t wanted responsibility.
That sometimes adults made painful choices.
It wasn’t the complete story.
But it was the only version I’d ever allowed myself to tell.
Prom night finally arrived.
Ryan showed up exactly at six.
He stood on our porch holding a bouquet of white roses.
He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo.
His manners were impeccable.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said politely, extending his hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You too, Ryan.”
When Iris walked downstairs, Ryan simply stared.
“You…”
He smiled.
“You look incredible.”
Iris blushed.
“So do you.”
I snapped what felt like hundreds of pictures.