He tipped his hat to me, turned, and walked out of the house.

Dr. Hale walked me to the waiting car, his hand resting gently on my shoulder.

“Take care of yourself, Lena,” Dr. Hale said. “Live a long, quiet life.”

“I will, Doctor,” I said, squeezing his hand.

The car drove me to Penn Station, where Miller was waiting with my ticket.

He handed me a new driver’s license and a social security card.

The name on the cards was Clara Morgan.

“Clara,” I repeated the name aloud, testing the sound of it.

“Your train leaves in ten minutes,” Miller said, pointing toward the platform.

“It goes to a small town in Vermont,” he added.

“There is a small apartment waiting for you, and a job at a local library.”

“Nobody there knows who you are,” Miller said. “Nobody ever will.”

I held the ticket tightly in my hand, looking at the silver train waiting on the tracks.

“Thank you, Miller,” I said.

“Have a good life, Clara,” Miller said, stepping back into the crowd.

I boarded the train and found my seat by the window.