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

Volunteer. A man who lost his way. A man who came back. A man who taught me that people are more than the worst thing they failed to do.”

Denise wiped her eyes.

Mrs. Alvarez crossed herself.

And in the back of the room, Aunt Diane cried quietly into a napkin.

After the memorial, she came to me.

For once, she did not arrive with advice.

She simply said, “I continue reading …