Ethan Branson races home from school on a sunny spring afternoon clutching a story he’s written for seventh-grade English class. He runs, panting, into the kitchen and hands the paper to his mother. A gold star decorates the top right next to a large “A.” Stapled to the page is a note to the boy’s parents: Ethan’s story is wonderful. His best work this year by far. His creative writing shows tremendous potential.

Ethan’s mother hugs him and strokes his wavy black hair. For a moment he is her little boy again. She puts the paper up on the fridge with a magnet. She blinks back tears as she reads the note from the teacher over and over.

Ethan is in his room when his father comes home. He hears his parents talk. His mother shows the paper and the note to his father. His raised voice and slurred words tell Ethan what will come next. Potential? Potential for what? That kid is going to amount to nothing and no good. Biggest regret of my life.

Ethan opens his bedroom window and slips out as he hears his father’s footsteps approach.