The following morning, I asked the nurse whether she remembered helping someone during a difficult night. Her smile disappeared. She introduced herself as Margaret and explained that several years earlier, she had worked an emergency shift when a frightened young boy arrived at the hospital. His mother had collapsed, and nobody could calm him. Margaret had stayed beside him, holding his hand until relatives arrived. She remembered the child clearly, although she never learned what happened afterward. When I described the boy’s green Honda, Margaret suddenly covered her mouth.

“He was that little boy?” she whispered.

I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know. But Margaret remembered something else: the child had been clutching a photograph of his mother. She had promised him that everything would be okay. Before leaving, she had given him her lunch and told him he wasn’t alone. Then she began crying quietly. “I wonder how he’s doing,” she said.