I told the student no.
Too fast, honestly.
The poor kid looked confused standing there holding his phone while I started gathering quizzes like class was over even though the bell hadn’t rung yet.
That night I barely slept.
I kept thinking about Michael’s stupid green truck, the way he always smelled like sawdust from helping his uncle build decks, how he disappeared three weeks before graduation without one phone call.
By morning I finally searched the Facebook page myself.
There were hundreds of posts going back years.
Every anniversary. Every birthday. Every Thanksgiving.
He’d been posting old photos asking if anybody from our town knew where I went.
Then I saw one comment from a woman tagged as his daughter.
“Dad, please stop doing this to yourself.”
That hit me harder than the photos did.
Turns out Michael never abandoned me.
My father did.
After Michael got accepted to an out-of-state trade program, my dad threatened him with jail because Michael was already nineteen and I was still seventeen for another month. Small-town sheriff. Small-town threats. Michael left town that night terrified he’d ruin my future.
The saddest part?
My father sat beside Michael at church for almost twenty years afterward and never told me once.