He tapped the paper.
“People wanted to help,” he said. “So many people. From all over the country. A woman in Kansas City started a fundraiser. Then the Missouri Truckers Association matched it. Then a church in Springfield. Then a high school in Topeka held a car wash. Then a man in Texas who’d lost his own daughter in a highway crash sent fifty thousand dollars.” He shook his head. “It just kept growing.”
“And nobody could find you,” Vanessa said.
“The Highway Patrol wouldn’t release the names,” David said. “At your request. Which was your right. Completely. So I set up a trust. In 2023. I’ve been managing it for free. Trying to reach you. Through the Highway Patrol. Through every channel we could find.”
“The letters,” I whispered.
“The letters,” he said gently. “Eleven of them. Explaining the fund. Asking how to get it to you.”
