I can still picture her as she was at eleven—a quiet girl with a gentle smile, the kind of child who blended into the classroom unless you made an effort to see her. She was always polite, always helpful, and always prepared, yet something changed when lunchtime arrived. She would rummage through her backpack each day with the same practiced expression, pretending to search for a lunch she knew wasn’t there. Most kids never noticed, caught up in their own noisy routines, but something about her small shrug and soft.