Denise Walker

I almost said no to the boy who saved my husband's life. He was seventeen, sitting in a window seat at a foster home in Indiana, on his last weeks before the system would spit him out for good. If I'd known, the day we brought him home, that he was the only reason my husband would still be alive at sixty-five — I would have held him a little longer in the doorway. Looked at him a little harder. Taken a breath. But I didn't know. I just helped him carry his bag up to his new room and called him down to dinner. His name is Tomas. He's eighteen now. He's a paramedic trainee at the community colle

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