Ethan had told me his plan two weeks earlier.
It was two in the morning, and we were sitting in the kitchen of our Bellmere home.
Neither of us had been sleeping much.
I begged him not to do it.
“They’re going to be c.r.u.e.l,” I told him.
“I know, Mom,” Ethan said.
“It doesn’t matter.”
That morning, Willowcrest High School had even called me.
They offered Ethan what they described as a “more appropriate option.”
His father refused to attend graduation.
His best friend stopped answering his messages.
Ethan wore the dress anyway.
And now he was walking down the stage steps.
