Sam sat behind a wooden desk with his regional math competition plaque.

Lucas posed with the frame of his bridge model.

Jack smiled from the front step of our home in Colorado Springs.

“I had the archivist bind the new pages last Tuesday,” Margaret said softly, running her fingers over the embossed silver names.

“They look like they belong there,” I said.

“They do belong there,” Richard said, his voice flat and firm.

“That was never in doubt once the truth was documented.”