He nodded. His eyes filled with tears.
“She told me. She came home every night and cried in the kitchen when she thought I was asleep. I’d sit on the stairs and listen.” He wiped his face. “I begged her to take me with her. She wouldn’t. She said it would upset your mom.”
“I searched for your name for years,” he said. “Every year, I’d look. When I was in college, I found your name in a university newsletter. Social work honors list. I sat in the library and cried, I was so happy. You’d made it.”
“You were watching me?”
“No. No. I never contacted you. I never came near you. I swear. I just… I needed to know you were all right. And then I’d go back to studying.” He gestured at the bookcases. At all the folders. “I went to medical school. I did my residency in neuro-ophthalmology. I picked my fellowship because of the optic nerve research they were doing. I took the job at that practice downtown because I knew—”
