We never had much money. We ate spaghetti, grilled cheese, and leftovers I sometimes brought home from the school cafeteria. Kevin’s clothes came from Goodwill, his toys from garage sales, and his bicycle had belonged to his father. When he turned ten, he asked for a PlayStation. I checked the price, went home, and studied my bills. I could not afford it. Instead, I bought him a used Game Boy from a pawn shop for forty dollars. He smiled, thanked me, and played it until the buttons wore smooth. We made our own memories: Sunday afternoons at the library, Friday pizza split between us, and summer evenings watching the Dayton Dragons from the cheap seats.

Kevin never complained. He was bright, curious, and determined. By fifth grade, his teacher recommended him for the gifted program. He made the honor roll, joined the academic team, and eventually became captain. On weekends, he worked at Kroger and gave me half his paycheck. I placed every dollar in a coffee can and never touched it. When he began talking about college, he dreamed of studying mechanical engineering at Ohio State. I worried about the cost, but he promised to earn scholarships and work. I had been thinking about his future since the night the trooper arrived. When his acceptance letter finally came, I cried so hard he had to kneel beside my chair and hold me. He promised I would sit in the front row at his graduation. I promised I would be there.