Then during the student showcase part of the evening, the principal stepped onto the stage.
He gave the usual speech first.
Then his eyes moved toward the back of the room—toward Melissa.
“Can someone zoom the camera toward that woman in the back row?” he said.
The cameraman adjusted.
The big projection screen suddenly showed Melissa’s face.
At first she smiled, thinking it was some kind of cute parent moment.
Then the principal said slowly, “I know you.”
The room went quiet.
Melissa laughed nervously. “Excuse me?”
He stepped closer to the audience.
“You’re Melissa.”
“Yes,” she said stiffly. “And this feels very inappropriate.”
He ignored that.
“I knew their mother,” he said, gesturing toward me and Ethan. “She volunteered here constantly. She raised money for the school. She talked about her kids all the time—and about the savings she set aside for their futures.”
Melissa’s face drained of color.
“This isn’t your business,” she snapped.
“It became my business when I heard a student almost skipped prom because she was told there was no money for a dress.”
Whispers spread through the room.
“And then I heard,” he continued, “that her younger brother made one for her using their late mother’s jeans.”