My daughter stopped.

Patricia reached into her wallet and drew out a small, worn, laminated prayer card — a faded image of the Virgin Mary, its corners soft and creased from years of being handled and carried and held.

“I’m not giving this to you as a reward,” Patricia said quickly, before Maya could react.

“I want to be clear about that.

There’s no reward for what you did; you can’t put a price on it, and it would cheapen it to try.

I just want you to have it.