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nothing else. The walls were thin, the roof leaked when it rained, and the landlord was a surly man who asked no questions as long as she paid her rent on time. It was not much, but it was enough. It was a place to hide, a place to wait, a place to watch. And she had watched. Every day, she had watched. She had positioned herself where she could see the house on Sycamore Street, where she could observe the comings and goings of the Thomas family. She had watched from behind trees, from the windows of the diner where she worked, from the shadows of the church across the street. She had watched William grow, had watched him laugh, had watched him play, had watched him become part of a family that was not hers. She had seen him taken in by the Thomases, had seen the kindness in Sarah s eyes, the warmth in the Reverend s smile. She had seen him given a new name, a new life, a new identity. She had seen him accepted, loved, cherished. She had seen him thrive. And she had told herself that she was happy for him, that she was glad he had found a home, that she had made the right choice. But the watching had been torture, a constant reminder of what she had lost, what she had given up, what she would never have. Every smile on William s face was a knife in her heart. Every laugh that escaped his lips was a reminder that she was not the one making him happy. Every step he took toward his new family was a step away from her. She had watched him on his first day of school, had seen the fear in his eyes, the uncertainty, the loneliness. She had wanted to run to him, to wrap her arms around him, to tell him that everything would be okay. But she had not. She had stayed hidden, watching from a distance, her heart breaking with every tear that fell from his eyes. She had watched him make friends, had watched him learn, had watched him grow. She had seen the fire in his eyes, the determination, the hunger for something more. She had seen the boy she had raised become a man, a man who would one day change the world. And she had been proud of him, so proud that it hurt. The years had passed, one after another, a blur of seasons and holidays and milestones that she had witnessed from a distance. She had watched William become a teenager, had watched him excel in school, had watched him discover his passion for justice. She had watched him argue with his friends, defend his beliefs, stand up for what was right. She had watched him become the person she had always known he could be. She had also watched him struggle. She had seen the prejudice he faced, the discrimination, the cruelty. She had seen the way people looked at him, the way they whispered about him, the way they treated him as an outsider. She had wanted to protect him, to shield him from the pain, to take it all away. But she had known that she could not. She had known that he had to face it on his own, that he had to find his own strength, that he had to become his own man. She had watched him leave for Howard University, had seen the excitement in his eyes, the hope, the determination. She had watched him go, knowing