« You’re the best. »
Those words made every overtime shift worth it.
We settled into our seats, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.
Then our waiter approached.
He looked to be in his early 20s.
His name tag read « Sam. »
He wore the same black apron as everyone else, but what stood out wasn’t his uniform.
It was the careful concentration on his face.
He had Down syndrome.
His smile was warm.