Her name was Evelyn Price.

And she had told me one thing I would never forget: “When people call you powerless, start keeping records.”

PART 4

Marisol lived in a modest duplex near Grandview Heights with two cats and a refrigerator covered in photographs.

We’d worked together at a nonprofit community center before Miles was born.

She opened her door in a robe, saw my suitcase, and asked no questions until she had lifted the diaper bag off my shoulder.

“Your room is ready,” she said.