We stood by our cars a moment longer, neither of us in a rush to say goodbye.
Then Daniel looked up at the night sky, breathed in the sharp air, and said, “You know, the world doesn’t need more heroes. Just more people who stay a little longer, who ask the hard questions, and who don’t leave when someone says they’re not okay.”
I nodded.
“Happy Thanksgiving, man,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied, with a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
And as I drove home, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mrs. Ellison and that courtyard bench. About how a woman who had given up on being remembered found her way back to love because someone saw her, stayed, and listened.
That, I thought, is the kind of miracle the holiday is supposed to be about.
What would you have done if you were in Daniel’s shoes, faced with someone who wasn’t physically hurt but clearly heartbroken?
