The train whistle blows, and your mother flags down a porter for your luggage; the porter tips her hat and begins rolling it aboard. Your hands feel rather empty without it, but your father pulls you into a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry that things have been so difficult," he tells you. "But—please do understand, enrolling at Gallatin is for your own good, and for our good, too."
His voice cracks. Your mother's expression is careful and smooth, but she presses a knuckle against her cheek to hide a tear.