On the fifth anniversary year of Maya’s birth, the main ballroom of the Grand Regent Hotel in Boston filled with leaders, donors, journalists, and people whose work would make the program possible.

I wore a white suit.

For once, I did not choose it by imagining what Patrick would think.

Behind the stage, I reviewed my remarks and crossed out a sentence that sounded as though we intended to rescue every family ourselves.

An attorney working on the network read the revised page and nodded.

“That we can stand behind,” she said.

When I stepped to the glass podium, the room quieted.