Two years after the divorce, Tommy finished elementary school.

His class held a modest ceremony in the gym, with paper stars hanging from the basketball hoops and a table of cupcakes near the exit.

Mark arrived early.

He wore a plain blue shirt and carried a camera, not a briefcase.

I saw him standing by the entrance checking the program, and for a moment I remembered the man I had once loved, before status and fear had become the loudest parts of his personality.

When Tommy’s name was called, we both stood to applaud.