Then I noticed something else. Beneath the mother’s handwriting was a second line—written in a child’s hand:
“My mamá said you are why I want to help people now. I hope I can find you again before I leave.”
I flipped the envelope and found a small, worn photo tucked behind the flap. A little girl, maybe seven or eight, clutching a teddy bear. Behind her: a hospital bed.
My heart clenched.
Was this their daughter? Was she sick?
The next day, I couldn’t shake the image. I drove to the grocery store where it had happened, hoping someone remembered.
Someone did.Continue reading…
