I looked around my tiny apartment at three adults who had once sat at my table when they had nowhere else to be.
Years earlier, I had helped them without imagining repayment.
I had thought kindness disappeared the moment it left your hands.
I was wrong.
Sometimes it travels farther than you ever see.
Sometimes it builds a life inside someone else.
And sometimes, decades later, when you are standing in a house where someone has convinced you that you are powerless, it comes back and rings the doorbell at exactly nine o’clock in the morning.
