Julian leaned down now, his voice barely louder than a whisper over the hum of the auditorium.

“She told me she was scared everyone would forget her,” he said, a single tear cutting a path down his cheek.

“She said she was sad she’d never get to grow up, never get to go to high school, and never get to wear a pretty dress to graduation.”

My breath hitched.

“I promised her that night, Mom,” he continued, smoothing the red silk.

“I held her hand and swore that when I graduated, I wouldn’t leave her behind.