Chapter 6
Ethan started a foundation.
Emma's Promise. That's what he called it. Its mission: to fulfill the wishes of terminally ill teenagers — to give them the moments they'd otherwise miss. Proms. Graduations. Trips. Concerts. Whatever they wanted.
He started it with the money from the interview — the morning show had paid him, and he'd donated every dollar. Then people started donating. Ten dollars. Twenty. A hundred. A woman sent five thousand dollars in memory of her son. A man sent ten thousand in memory of his wife.
Within six months, Emma's Promise had raised half a million dollars.
Ethan was eighteen. He'd just started college — local, so he could stay close. He studied business. He ran the foundation in his spare time. Javi worked with him. David was the legal advisor. I was the volunteer coordinator.
We were a family. A real family again.
The first wish we granted was for a girl named Sofia. Sixteen. Leukemia. Same as Emma. She wanted to go to prom. She'd never been. She wanted a red dress.
Ethan personally took her shopping. He helped her pick out the dress — bright red, of course. He arranged the limo. The dinner. The tickets. He even walked her into the prom himself, on his arm, while her parents watched and cried.
Sofia wrote to us afterward. "I felt like a princess," she said. "For one night, I wasn't the sick girl. I was just a girl in a red dress. Thank you."
Ethan framed that letter. He hung it in the foundation office — a tiny office we'd rented above a bookstore. Next to Emma's photo.
More wishes followed. A boy who wanted to skydive. A girl who wanted to meet her favorite singer. A boy who wanted to graduate from high school — we arranged a ceremony in his hospital room, with his whole class there.
Every wish, every smile, every tear — it was Emma's promise, kept. Over and over.
One evening, Ethan came home. He was quiet. He sat down beside me on the couch.
"Mom," he said. "I miss her. Every day. But — doing this, it helps. It feels like she's here. Like she's part of it."
I put my arm around him. "She is, baby. She's in every wish. Every smile. Every red dress."
He leaned his head on my shoulder. "Do you think she's proud?"
I kissed the top of his head. "I know she's proud. She's probably up there right now, telling everyone, 'That's my brother. He wears my dress better than I did.'"
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Ethan laughed. It was a real laugh. The kind I hadn't heard in two years.
And somewhere, I think Emma was laughing too.
