“He found his old journal and confessed, ‘I tossed it out. It made me sad to see the person I was when I came here.’ Tears welled up as I told him, ‘None of that was your fault—you just didn’t know how to trust me yet.’ Then, on a simple Tuesday night, he thanked me for dinner. ‘I’m just grateful I’ll always have a meal each night,’ he said. My heart shattered, and I dropped my gaze, which made him think he had somehow said the wrong thing.”
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