We began walking toward the parking garage.
Halfway there, rain started falling.
Cold autumn rain.
People rushed past us, covering their heads with jackets.
We reached the intersection.
Then I noticed an elderly man standing beside an old sedan with the hood raised.
Cars moved around him.
Pedestrians hurried past.
He looked frustrated and soaked.
Sophie saw him at the same moment.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Neither of us said anything.
Then she smiled.
And crossed the street toward him.
Lucy groaned.
“Oh, come on. We’re going to be here forever.”
But she followed.
So did I.
Because maybe my father had been right.
Maybe some things aren’t inherited through names.
Maybe they aren’t carried through money, property, or family companies.
Maybe they travel quietly from one person to another through example.
A stranger stops for someone.
Then years later, another stranger stops.
