That’s hope’s door. Not a rescue. Not an answer. Just an opening.

Highland Park taught me that grief doesn’t close doors—it reveals which ones were never really locked. And hope? Hope is the audacity to walk through.

I think about the etymology sometimes. Hope comes from Old English hopian , meaning “to have confidence.” But confidence in what? Not in safety—Highland Park learned that safety is an illusion. Confidence in welcome. The belief that even if the world breaks your window, someone will leave their door unlatched.