Hers belonged to her.

On the evening of the event, I stood before a room of people seated at ordinary folding tables.

I looked at the empty chair beside the podium and felt the old memory stir.

I breathed slowly until it passed.

“I used to believe the most important thing I could do for my family was keep the peace,” I began.

“I thought if I stayed gracious enough, quiet enough, useful enough, everyone would eventually choose kindness.

I was wrong.”