Fold-out chairs. Costco cake. Clearance rack dress.
I kept glancing at the street, half-expecting my parents to show up.
They didn’t.
We had a baby a couple years later.
I mailed a birth announcement to my parents’ office.
No card. No call. Nothing.
Fifteen years passed.
Hard years, but ours.
He got a remote IT job. Calm. Patient. The guy who could guide someone’s grandma through a password reset without snapping.
We fought sometimes—money, exhaustion, who handled which crisis.
But I believed we were strong.
I believed we’d already survived the worst night of our lives.
I was wrong.
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