For years, my Sundays followed the same quiet routine.
I never questioned it.
I thought I was simply helping an elderly"s"neighbor with his groceries.I had no idea those ordinary mornings would become one of the most important parts of my life.
It started on a calm Sunday morning, the kind you only get in a suburb where everyone is still drinking their first cup of coffee. I was twenty-eight years old, standing in my driveway with the recycling bin, watching maple leaves drift across the lawn two houses down
It was the most ordinary moment imaginable.
Maybe that is why I remember it so clearly.
Ezra had lived next door for years. We waved from our driveways, exchanged quick hellos, and went back to our separate lives. I knew his name, but not much else.
