Then Joel learned about Ivy’s son, Danny, who had died at eleven on October 13, 2007, after a drunk driver ran a stop sign just three hundred feet from home. Ivy had watched from her window, waiting for him. For nineteen years, she’d continued sitting there every afternoon, unable to stop reliving the tragedy.

When Joel asked about Danny’s death, I explained that the accident wasn’t Ivy’s fault. Later, Ivy told me she didn’t regret letting Danny walk home. Those three weeks had made him feel independent and proud. She urged me not to let her tragedy become the reason I kept Joel from growing up.

I finally agreed to a trial walk on October 13. Joel seemed unusually secretive, carrying a mysterious wooden object in his backpack. At 3:11, he texted, “On my way.” Twenty minutes later, Ivy called me outside. A little girl named Rosie had wandered through an unlatched gate and into the street behind a reversing delivery truck. Joel had seen her and sprinted toward her, pulling her away just before the truck could hit her. He took the fall himself, scraping his knees and hands, but Rosie was unharmed.