Dad had told Mr. Lawson, “he’s made peace with who he is, and he’s ready to hear that I finally did too. If he wears black like everyone else, he’s still hiding, and the letter would only hurt him. So it waits.”
Eric had worn the red. Walked into the funeral of the father who’d spent his life dimming him, in the brightest suit in the building, because somewhere in his forties Eric had finally decided to stop apologizing for his own colors. And that choice — the one I’d been
