She is well now.
She and Mia know the whole story — the awning, the rain, the ten dollars, the man who spent twenty-seven years looking for their mother.
They know they were there for it, two babies in a sling, too small to remember the night their mother accidentally saved a stranger’s life and, without knowing it, her own daughter’s future.
I took over the foundation.
Of course I did.
I run What’s Your Name now, out of an office a great deal bigger than the one Mr. Avery found me in, and we do the one thing Samuel built it to do.
We go to the people the world has finished with — under the awnings, in the shelters, in the places invisible people wait to stop existing — and before we offer them anything else, we ask them their names.
You would not believe what that question does to a face that has not heard it in months.
