Aurelio had used pride to lose a son.

Santiago had chosen a third thing: to use what he knew to open doors.

He touched his father’s headstone before he left.

“When I was small,” he said quietly, “I used to think that one day someone would come and save me.

Later I understood that I was also saved by the people I helped when I had nothing at all.

Maybe that’s how it works — what we plant in others finds its way back to us.” A breeze moved through the flowers.