My mother locked my bedroom door on prom night, and that was the moment I knew something was wrong. Downstairs, my best friend Noah was waiting for me in a navy suit and a bow tie he’d been talking about since November. Mom turned to me with trembling hands and said I could go with him only on one condition—I had to hear a truth she had hidden for years.

Noah and I met in first grade over a shared hatred of raisins during snack time. By lunch, we were best friends, bonding over his vast knowledge of dinosaurs and my terrible drawings of a T-rex that looked like a potato with arms. Noah had Down syndrome, but at six, that mattered far less to me than his playful personality. When a classmate meanly told Noah no one would ever marry him, I defended him, and Noah asked if I would love him. I told him maybe, but first we had to go to prom, and we pinkie-promised on it.

Twelve years passed, and our friendship survived while we grew up. We supported each other through everything—my parents’ divorce when I was twelve, failing my driving test, and my first heartbreak in junior high. Through it all, Noah never gave big speeches; he just stayed until whatever hurt became bearable. In February of our senior year, he reminded me of our first-grade pinkie promise and officially asked me to prom, proudly revealing he had already bought his bow tie back in November.

On prom night, I finished getting ready and was heading downstairs when I heard the front door open. Noah stood in the entryway holding a corsage made of rosemary, explaining that the florist said it meant remembering, and he remembered promises. But when Mom looked at him, her face changed as if she had seen a ghost. With wet eyes, she pulled me upstairs into my room and locked the door…