My dad took the ID card and stared at it dozens of times. The name Dylan Morgan was printed neatly across it, and in the photo, he was grinning so broadly that his face was creased with wrinkles, his eyes bright as stars.That night, he even clutched the ID card in his hand while he slept, afraid he might lose it. He woke several times in the middle of the night, pulled it out to look at it, and only then could he settle back to sleep.The next morning at breakfast, he suddenly said to me, "Danny, I want to go back home and visit your grandparents' graves. I want to tell them the good news. And I want to visit Ms. Winter's grave, too, and thank her for remembering me all these years."Rosamund had passed away the month before. Before she died, she'd specifically asked her son to give my dad his old schoolwork, award certificates, and the teaching notes she'd kept for years. She'd said that her student had finally been admitted to Ashford University, and she could rest easy now.
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