rabbit, worn almost white at the ears, and an old birthday card sealed inside a plastic sleeve.
“My God,” he whispered.
He touched the rabbit first.
Then the card.
“You kept this.”
Hannah nodded, tears running openly now.
“It was one of the only things I had from before foster care. June wrote my name on the card. I used to read it when I moved to a new place.”
Mr. Walter sat down hard on the bottom bus step because his legs had clearly stopped cooperating.
Hannah knelt in
