“I know.”
“He sent me Instagram messages.”
“When you put it like that, yes, I sound stupid.”
“You do.”
“Go to bed.”
Three weeks later, Noah was filling out scholarship paperwork at the kitchen table.
He had offers from several colleges.
Not full scholarships.
Enough to matter.
The MVP trophy sat on the shelf beside his framed adoption certificate.
I liked them there.
Two pieces of paper and metal telling different versions of the same story.
Noah was eating cereal.
I said:
“You planned that speech.”
He froze.
Then grinned.
“Maybe.”
“How long?”
“A while.”
