My mom is my hero because she always believes…
For months, the missing final word had felt like another thing stolen from us.
That morning, I understood that Noah had already completed the sentence in the note hidden beneath it.
Please believe me.
I placed the card beside a bowl of cereal and a jar filled with wildflowers, dirt still clinging to their roots.
Then I said the words he should have heard before he walked away from that office.
“I believe you, Noah.
I always did.”
The school had tried to bury the truth inside a child’s backpack.
Instead, that backpack carried his truth home.
