I stood frozen as he spoke, explaining that he had spent years trying to find me. That he had never forgotten that storm, that couch, that one safe night when everything else had fallen apart.
“I’m here to keep a promise,” he said, holding out a thick red folder.
We sat at the same kitchen table, though it had been replaced years ago. He talked about what happened after that night. About shelters. Long days of work. Nights spent studying. Failures, setbacks, and the memory that kept him going when he wanted to quit.
“That night,” he said quietly, “reminded me I still mattered.”
Then he pushed the folder toward me.
“Open it.”
I took a breath and lifted the cover.
And in that moment, as I scanned the first page, my heart began to race—because whatever was inside that folder was far bigger than I ever could have imagined.
