Somewhere behind a closed door, a baby cried.
Evan rubbed both hands over his face.
“What would real help look like?” he asked.
Noah did not answer fast.
He was careful now.
Because this mattered.
“Not a building with your name on it,” he said. “Not a photo in front of smiling patients. Not a one-day event where people line up and then get forgotten again.continue reading …
