late from his shifts, but instead of heading to bed, he would lock himself in the living room. I could hear the faint, rhythmic hum of an old sewing machine and the occasional snip of scissors echoing through the hallway until well past midnight.
I didn’t want to intrude on his privacy, so I stayed in my room, wondering what he was crafting. About a month later, he finally called me into the living room with a look of quiet pride on his face. He reached into the closet and
