Forty years ago, in North Carolina, a man named Walter Miller escaped a maximum-security prison. He had fled a bus transfer, running through the woods with sirens fading behind him.
He made it to New York with nothing but the clothes on his back and a stolen name. He buried Walter Miller deep inside, becoming the gentle, hardworking man I fell in love with.
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Suddenly, pieces of our past started to click into place. I remembered how he never liked taking photos and always avoided large crowds. I thought he was just shy, but he was hunting for shadows.
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