“I think,” I said, “he seems like a very nice young man.”
Her whole face lit up.
And I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else.
Prom night finally came.
Daisy came down the stairs in a silver gown that caught the light with every step, her hair falling in soft, perfect curls around her shoulders.
She looked beautiful.
Not “beautiful for a girl with Down syndrome.”
Just beautiful.
When the doorbell rang, Caleb stood on our porch in a black tuxedo holding two bouquets — one for Daisy, and one for me.
That threw me off.
Most boys his age could barely manage a “hi, Mrs. Hart.” But he handed me the flowers, looked me in the eye, and promised to have her home safe.
