His voice sounded smaller than it had during the ceremony.

“Of course,” I said, putting my water bottle down on a metal folding chair.

Priya slipped past him into the hallway, pulling the heavy door closed behind her with a soft click.

We were alone in the dim, concrete corridor.

The air smelled of old paint and damp floor wax.

“You gave a great speech, Sarah,” Derek said.

He didn’t look me in the eye.

He adjusted the sleeve of his gown, pulling at a loose thread near the wrist.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I meant what I said out there.”

“I know you did,” he said.

He looked up, and I saw the dark circles under his eyes in the harsh fluorescent light.

“But it was hard to hear.”

“The truth usually is,” I said.

“No, I mean it was hard to hear because you were right,” he said.

He took a few steps closer, his leather dress shoes clicking on the dusty floor.

He stopped by the edge of a stack of wooden theatrical flats.

“I’ve let Mom fight my battles for a long time,” he said.