I’ve mastered this trick—make a joke, laugh a little too loud, shift in my chair like I’m just restless. Folks see composure. They don’t see the fight happening behind my ribs. Truth is, I wanted to let go. I wanted to let the tears come and not care who saw. But something in me still believes that once I start, I might not be able to stop. So I swallowed hard, smiled like I meant it, and told myself the same tired lie: Not here man. Not now.