Then came Eveli.
“He says he’s not gone,” Eveli continued, her voice like a cracked bell. “He says he’s the warm spot on my pillow.”
People began copying the acts. A taxi driver left a rose on a stranger’s windshield. A barista wrote “you are seen” on a hundred cups. The blog’s readership grew, and so did Bella’s murals—each one a guardian angel with a different face: a tired mother, a teenage boy with a nose ring, an old man feeding pigeons.