"Yes."
"And... me."
"Yes."
His finger trembled over the corner of the photograph.
"Is that..."
"Is that my dad?"
"Yes, baby."
"That's your dad."
"I don't..."
"I don't remember his face."
"I never remembered his face."
"I know, sweetheart."
He looked up.
Tears ran down both sides of his face.
"How do you have this?"
Maggie took a long breath.
She had been waiting eight years to say what she was about to say.
She had rehearsed it a thousand times.
In sleepless nights.
Long drives.
Quiet moments.
She never knew exactly what the words would be.
Now she did.
"Eli, eight years ago, in a hospital in Pittsburgh, I took care of a man who'd been badly injured in an accident at a steel mill."
"His name was Jameson Carter."
"He was your father."
Eli stopped breathing for a second.
"He was a good man."
"He saved three of his coworkers before the second blast."
"He was awake for almost two days."
"He was in a great deal of pain."
"And he talked to me about you almost the whole time."
"He showed me that picture."
"He told me your name was Eli."
"He told me you were six."
"He told me your mother had died the year before."
"He was afraid of what would happen to you."
"He asked me before he died to find you."
"To make sure you were all right."
"To tell you he loved you."
The boy was sobbing silently.
His whole body shook.
"I tried, baby," Maggie said.
"I tried for a year."
"I lost you in the system."
"I thought I'd failed him."
"I've carried that for eight years."
"And then last night, in an alley, in a snowstorm, a boy gave me his coat."
"This morning I found his name sewn into the lining."
"I knew."
"I knew the thing I'd been praying for for eight years had finally been answered."
She leaned forward.
She touched his face with her good hand.
"Your father loved you, Eli Carter."
"He loved you with everything he had."
"The last words he said in this world were about you."
"He asked me to find you."
"And I did."
"Or maybe you found me."
"I'm not sure it matters which."
She paused.
"You don't have to go back into that system, baby."
"Not if there's another legal way to keep you safe."
"There's a room in our house that's been empty for 15 years."
"It's yours if you'll have it."
"We're not trying to erase your parents."
"We're not trying to replace anybody."