looked fascinated.
Teachers stopped pretending not to listen.
Daniel pointed toward me.
“That woman worked three jobs.”
My throat tightened.
“That woman skipped meals.”
The bouquet trembled in my hands.
“That woman sat beside me every night while I studied.”
His voice cracked.
“When the electricity got cut off, she held a flashlight over my textbooks.”
People began looking at me differently.
Not with pity.
With respect.
Daniel wasn’t finished.
“When I needed shoes, she fixed old ones.”
A tear slid down my cheek.
“When I wanted to quit, she
