My husband refused to walk my 17-year-old daughter, his stepdaughter for nine years, at her high school senior night. “That’s something a real father should do,” he told her. But when her name was announced Thursday evening, her 79-year-old grandfather appeared with his walking cane and proudly accompanied her onto the court.

She turned her head and looked at me.

“And Mom? I want it to be just him. Is that okay? I want him to have it all by himself.”

That stung a little. I’ll admit it.

But I understood.

I’d be in the bleachers. I’d see it. And I wouldn’t have to be the one holding her together on the

walk across that floor.

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” I said.

The next morning, between my eight o’clock and my nine o’clock patients, I called the activities

director at the high school. Mrs. Larson.

Every senior turns in a form with the names of whoever’s walking her out.

Kaylee’s form said Jodi and Travis. I’d filled it out myself the week before. Without even thinking