My Daughter Chose the School Janitor Over Me at Graduation—Then He Pulled Out an Old Envelope.

“Isn’t that the janitor?”

“Where’s her dad?”

“Why didn’t she pick Nolan?”

“Poor guy.”

I slowly sat back down.

My face burned.

A woman beside me leaned closer.

“Everything okay?”

I forced a smile.

“Yeah.”

My voice barely worked.

“Sophie always has surprises.”

The woman gave me the kind of sympathetic smile people use when they don’t know what else to do.

Then she looked away.

I STARTED QUESTIONING EVERYTHING

Sophie and Arthur began walking.

Every step felt like something being taken from me.

I replayed eighteen years in my head.

Breakfasts.

Homework.

Doctor visits.

School projects.

Nightmares.

Christmas mornings.

Science fairs.

The time Sophie called from school crying and I left work without even changing my boots.

Had I failed her somehow?

Had I embarrassed her?

Had she secretly resented me?

What had Arthur done that I hadn’t?

I hated myself for thinking that.