Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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One Year Later
"I'd like to welcome everyone to the first annual Stephen McKinnie Memorial Baseball Game!"
My mother's voice echoes through Truist Park, followed by applause from nearly forty thousand people.
I watch from the dugout as she stands on the pitcher's mound, microphone clutched tightly in one hand and a smile on her face that I know is taking some effort. My mom has never liked being the center of attention.
That was always my dad's job.
"Stephen was a neighbor to many and a pillar in his community, but to the people who knew him best, he was so much more than that. He was a friend, a brother, an incredible father to our sons, Cole and Greyson, and my husband and best friend."
Her voice catches on the last few words, and she pauses.
Delaney's fingers tighten around mine.
"Stephen and I met in college, and according to him, it was love at first sight." My mom smiles through the emotion in her voice. "It took me a little longer to come around, but if you knew my husband, you know he wasn't a man who gave up easily."
A ripple of laughter moves through the stadium.
"After graduation, we moved to South Grove, North Carolina, where I became a teacher and Stephen started McKinnie Construction. We built a home there, raised our boys, and created a life I wouldn't trade for anything. It wasn't always perfect, but through every high and low, Stephen made sure we knew how deeply we were loved."
She pauses again, quickly wiping beneath one eye.
Delaney rests her chin against my arm and looks up at me. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah." I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm good."
And I am.
I miss him every fucking day, but standing here surrounded by thousands of people who showed up because his life mattered makes the emptiness fell a little different.
"Four years ago, Stephen was diagnosed with Stage Three prostate cancer," my mom continues. "He fought it into remission once, and when it came back, he fought it again. Doctors gave him three to six months. He gave us eight." Her voice breaks, and this time she doesn't bother hiding the tears.
"That was Stephen. He never complained, never blamed anyone, and somehow managed to find something worth smiling about even on the darkest days. He fought until his very last breath, and if he were standing here today, he'd probably be wondering why we're all making such a fuss over him."
Laughter mixes with more scattered applause.
"But he'd also be incredibly proud of what we're doing in his name."
