“Anna was eight,” he finally said. “Just like Lily.”
He told me about a neighborhood Halloween party held 25 years earlier.
The organizers had arranged a children’s costume contest.
Anna had spent weeks preparing.
“She practiced walking across our living room every evening. She wanted everyone to see her dress.”
But during the party, someone decided Anna shouldn’t participate.
“Your mother was one of the organizers,” he continued. “I arrived and found my wife crying while your mother was arguing with her.”
He swallowed.
“Anna came home convinced she wasn’t good enough to be a princess.”
I felt terrible for his daughter.
But something didn’t fit.
“My mother has always encouraged Lily. She’s never treated her disability as something shameful.”
“People change.”
“Maybe. But why did you blame Lily?”
Mr. Harrison looked toward our darkened windows.
“I’ve watched your mother visit for years. Birthdays. Christmas. Halloween. Everyone celebrating that little girl.”
