I kept the first photograph of Megan and the babies in a drawer.

It had been taken by Ruth outside the food pantry, months before I understood who they were.

Megan wore an exhausted smile, and the boys were bundled against her.

Hazel was still in Memphis.

I didn’t display it.

It wasn’t mine to turn into a symbol of how far I’d come.

But once in a while I looked at it to remember the distance between the woman in the photograph and the one I’d mocked on the road.

One evening, Megan asked whether I’d speak at a community event about fair hiring and transparent contracting.