At 14, I was so poor I pretended I’d forgotten my lunch because admitting the truth felt unbearable. My mom worked nights at a dry cleaner, rent barely survived, and my dad had disappeared years earlier. I hid in the library during lunch—hungry, embarrassed—until Ms. Grennan started leaving small snacks that slowly turned into full sandwiches.
Then one Monday, she was gone without any warning. No explanation, no goodbye—just an empty space that stayed with me for years. A decade later, after working my way through school and becoming a lawyer, I was at a legal aid office when I saw her name on an intake form and froze in disbelief.
