On the other side of me, Ethan’s eyes are lasered to the end of the pen as I curve around the final h in my last name. I lift the pen and I can hear his breath catch. I press it to the paper and time stops. I draw a hyphen and he lets out all of his breath at once, collapsing down, tears in his voice. “Thank you,” he cries again. “Thank you, thank you.” He’s been saying that a lot.
