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PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

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direction.

I found a job with a nonprofit legal clinic. I rented a small apartment fifteen minutes from Walter’s housing program. And on Saturday mornings, I started cooking from my mother’s notebook in the basement of a church that agreed to lend me the kitchen.

The first week, eleven people came.

Walter was one of them.

He arrived early wearing a clean continue reading …

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