Dad paused, his voice trembling slightly.

“So I kept my promise to her,” he concluded quietly.

Tears streamed down my face as I stood on the porch steps.

I had lived my entire life without knowing the deep history behind my mother’s garden or the Friday morning trips.

Wayne stepped beside me, setting his clipboard down on the railing.

“How many families does this garden support?” he asked softly.

“On Saturdays, we serve about forty families,” Dad estimated.