Not the pale girl from the emergency room or the frightened girl looking over her shoulder.

Just me, fifteen, with a ridiculous muffin crumb on my chin.

Before leaving, Margo handed me an envelope.

Inside was a copy of a simple note she’d written on the back of her shift schedule on the night she found me.

It said the weather, the mile marker, the time she’d called emergency services, and one short line: “Young girl breathing, respond urgently.”

“I kept the original with my work papers,” she explained.