The last day of term, the last day of school had arrived for my ASD son. That morning, I woke before the sun, my chest felt impossibly heavy, and yet, deep inside, a spark of pride flickered. Sixteen years of sweat, tears, second-guessing every choice—every EHCP meeting, every late-night search for the right support—had led us here. And in that moment, I understood: we’d made it. I expected joy, of course. But what hit me first was relief.