Part One: The Promise
I was seven years old when I first realized that the world did not always treat my younger sister with kindness.
Rosie was six, and she had Down syndrome. To me, that was simply one small part of who she was. She loved yellow flowers, laughed so hard at cartoons that she sometimes fell off the couch, and remembered every birthday better than anyone else in our family.
But other children did not always see those things.
They noticed the way she spoke more slowly. They stared when she needed extra time to understand instructions. Some whispered behind her back. Others were cruel enough to laugh openly.
Whenever that happened, I stepped between them and Rosie.
I was small, but I tried to make myself look fearless. I would clench my fists, lift my chin, and dare anyone to say another word.
Most children backed away.
Ben never had to.
He had been my best friend since we were old enough to ride bicycles without training wheels. While other children treated Rosie as though including her was a burden, Ben acted as if her place beside us had never been in question.
