job at Peterson’s Grocery paid just enough for utilities and food. The medications were a luxury I couldn’t always afford. I’d worked for 35 years as a school secretary, saved every penny with my late husband, Frank, and now here I was, still punching a time clock and rationing the pills that kept my heart beating steady.

Around 2:00 p.m., Dany walked through the front door of the grocery store. My son always dressed sharp, today in a crisp navy suit and shiny leather shoes that probably cost more than I made in a month.