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🧩 A Voice Awakened
His mother froze, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He hasn’t spoken in four years,” she whispered. “Not since his father died.”
The boy—seven years old, I’d later learn his name was Tommy—kept repeating those words, gently running his hands over the bike. Then he looked up, locking eyes with me for the first time.
I didn’t recognize the boy or his mother, but the patch on my vest suddenly felt heavier than ever. I swallowed hard and asked:
“Ma’am, what was your husband’s road name?”
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