I was sorting through Reina’s closet when I put up a quick giveaway: a bundle of 2–3T clothes, free to anyone who needed them. Minutes later, a message popped up. Her name was Nura. Things were tough. Her little girl didn’t have anything warm. Could I mail the box? She’d pay me back “when she could.” My first instinct was to ignore it. Then something tugged at me—maybe because my mother had just died, maybe because everything in my life felt fragile and slightly off its axis. I taped the flaps shut, paid for postage myself, and addressed it to...
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