That evening, after Ethan went upstairs to change out of his graduation clothes, my parents sat at my kitchen table.
The manila folder lay between us.
Dad read the college letter twice.
Then he read Mom’s note.
“I never saw this,” he said.
Mom nodded.
“I know.”
“You wrote this?”
“Yes.”
I sat across from her.
“Tell me what happened.”
She held the note carefully by the edges.
“I remember the letter arriving.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“I meant to.”
The answer irritated me immediately.
“Mom.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Then explain it better.”
She looked toward the stairs.
“Ethan had been sick that week.”
I remembered.
A fever.
Nothing serious, but at the time every cough from that tiny baby had terrified me.
“You hadn’t slept,” Mom continued. “You were already talking about giving up the scholarship.”
“I had given it up.”
