Our love to hide
Not because Ethan or Nathan craved recognition but because stories spread, and the ones worth remembering always find their way forward.
One former resident sent a postcard every month from wherever he was couch-surfing in Europe.
Another called on the anniversary of her sobriety, voice trembling, saying, “I made it another year. Just wanted you to know.”
And from Atlanta, letters came regularly from Micah and J.
Typed, sometimes. But often messy and handwritten. Full of updates, drawings, memories.
One came with a photo.
Micah and J, standing in front of a new drop-in shelter they’d helped open.
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