I never married or danced to another man after my high school boyfriend disappeared on the night of the prom in 1985; last week, a little girl handed me the boutonnière he was wearing that night.

It was the first time in forty years that laughing didn’t make me feel like I was leaving Michael behind.

When the music was over, Tori hugged me tightly.

“It was the best dance of all!”

I thought about the bouquet. Then, in the boutonnière.

And then, in the girl whose family existed because an eighteen-year-old could not pass by someone who needed it.