He stood there in his worn leather vest, stained with dirt and grease, surrounded by a sea of strangers—doctors, lawyers, professors—the kind of people he’d never dreamed of standing beside. In his trembling hands, he held a small gift—something I didn’t want from him, from the man I’d spent the last ten years pretending was dead. He was a ghost I’d buried long ago, one I swore I’d never face again.
My classmates stared, eyes wide and unkind. A few whispered in curiosity, others in contempt. My professors murmured behind their hands, and the Hamiltons—Richard’s parents—wore expressions of tight-lipped disgust. This was supposed to be the day I left everything he represented behind—the trailer park, the grime, the chaos, the life I’d fought so hard to escape.
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