The chap­ter fea­tures Pres­i­dent Oba­ma’s reflec­tions on the eve of his inau­gu­ra­tion, focus­ing first on the seem­ing­ly minor yet sym­bol­i­cal­ly sig­nif­i­cant prepa­ra­tion for his role as com­man­der in chief, empha­siz­ing the impor­tance of prop­er­ly exe­cut­ing a mil­i­tary salute. This detail under­scores the grav­i­ty and nuances of assum­ing pres­i­den­tial respon­si­bil­i­ties, par­tic­u­lar­ly in nation­al secu­ri­ty. Denis McDo­nough, a loy­al and hard­work­ing staff mem­ber, emerges as a piv­otal fig­ure in not only prepar­ing Oba­ma for the pres­i­den­cy but also rep­re­sent­ing the ded­i­ca­tion and intri­cate chal­lenges that define the admin­is­tra­tion’s inter­nal dynam­ics and the com­plex geopo­lit­i­cal land­scape.

Oba­ma delves into the philo­soph­i­cal and prac­ti­cal dimen­sions of safe­guard­ing Amer­i­can secu­ri­ty, dis­cussing the diverse array of threats and predica­ments fac­ing the Unit­ed States. He reflects on the his­tor­i­cal con­text of Amer­i­can defense strat­e­gy, the Cold War’s endur­ing impact, and the nuanced view he brought to the pres­i­den­cy, influ­enced by his unique back­ground and glob­al per­spec­tive. This is jux­ta­posed with the expec­ta­tions and respon­si­bil­i­ties imposed on him, high­light­ing the inter­nal debates and deci­sion-mak­ing process­es sur­round­ing mil­i­tary engage­ments in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Par­tic­u­lar atten­tion is giv­en to the nuanced details of for­eign pol­i­cy and nation­al secu­ri­ty delib­er­a­tions, notably the con­sid­ered approach to troop deploy­ments in Afghanistan and the strate­gic recal­i­bra­tion required due to shift­ing glob­al dynam­ics. Oba­ma’s nar­ra­tive weaves through the intri­cate real­i­ties of war, the sac­ri­fices of mil­i­tary per­son­nel, and the pro­found per­son­al impact of vis­it­ing wound­ed sol­diers, pre­sent­ing a somber reflec­tion on the costs of con­flict and the eth­i­cal bur­dens of lead­er­ship.

The lat­ter por­tion of the chap­ter shifts towards inter­na­tion­al rela­tions, detail­ing Oba­ma’s efforts to man­age the glob­al finan­cial cri­sis. It out­lines the strate­gic imper­a­tives and chal­lenges of gal­va­niz­ing inter­na­tion­al coop­er­a­tion, empha­siz­ing the impor­tance of U.S. lead­er­ship in nav­i­gat­ing com­plex glob­al eco­nom­ic dynam­ics. Through his inter­ac­tions with world lead­ers and the sym­bol­ism of pres­i­den­tial trav­el, Oba­ma under­scores Amer­i­ca’s piv­otal role in shap­ing the post-World War II inter­na­tion­al order, reflect­ing on both the achieve­ments and lim­i­ta­tions of U.S. influ­ence.

Over­all, the chap­ter presents a mul­ti­fac­eted nar­ra­tive, com­bin­ing per­son­al reflec­tions, polit­i­cal insights, and strate­gic con­sid­er­a­tions to elu­ci­date the pro­found com­plex­i­ties and eth­i­cal dilem­mas inher­ent in pres­i­den­tial lead­er­ship, par­tic­u­lar­ly in the realms of nation­al secu­ri­ty and glob­al diplo­ma­cy.

In Chap­ter 13, Feyre finds her­self in the lav­ish study of the High Fae lord, Tam­lin, sur­round­ed by the grandeur of mag­ic and wealth. Despite the opu­lence, her thoughts are tint­ed with con­cern for her human fam­i­ly, whom she wish­es to alert about the dan­gers lurk­ing in Pry­thi­an and, pos­si­bly, about the dis­ease that might cross into the human lands. Feyre strug­gles with her lim­it­ed lit­er­a­cy and decides to attempt writ­ing a let­ter to her fam­i­ly, a task that becomes a painful reminder of her edu­ca­tion­al short­com­ings. Amid her efforts, she encoun­ters Tam­lin, who offers assis­tance with­out judg­ment, high­light­ing his con­trast­ing nature to the dis­dain­ful atti­tudes she’s come to expect from the Fae.

As Feyre immers­es her­self in the study-turned-library, she is drawn to a mag­nif­i­cent mur­al depict­ing the his­to­ry of Pry­thi­an – from the cre­ation of their world by a celes­tial caul­dron to the divi­sion of ter­ri­to­ries after a ruinous war between the Fae and humans. This visu­al his­to­ry evokes a pro­found real­iza­tion of the scale of pow­er and depth of his­to­ry in the Fae’s world com­pared to the seem­ing­ly insignif­i­cant exis­tence of humans.

Lat­er, after an unsuc­cess­ful attempt to engage with chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture, Feyre dis­cards her draft­ed let­ter, feel­ing over­whelmed by her inad­e­qua­cies. How­ev­er, Tam­lin’s unex­pect­ed pro­pos­al to help her ignites a con­fronta­tion between them, root­ed in Feyre’s deep-seat­ed mis­trust of the Fae and her own feel­ings of infe­ri­or­i­ty. Their exchange reveals the com­plex­i­ties of their rela­tion­ship, marked by mis­con­cep­tions, vul­ner­a­bil­i­ties, and the faint hints of a bud­ding trust.

Feel­ing iso­lat­ed by her own stub­born refusal to accept help, Feyre even­tu­al­ly seeks out Lucien, hop­ing to glean infor­ma­tion about the blight affect­ing the Fae lands and any chance of mit­i­gat­ing her cir­cum­stances to return to her fam­i­ly. Lucien, with his usu­al mix of sar­casm and insight, pro­vides Feyre with cru­cial details on trap­ping a mag­i­cal crea­ture known as the Suriel, poten­tial­ly a source of vital infor­ma­tion. This moment of coop­er­a­tion, how­ev­er reluc­tant­ly giv­en, sig­ni­fies the shift­ing dynam­ics of Feyre’s inter­ac­tions with the Fae, hint­ing at alliances formed out of neces­si­ty and the slow ero­sion of prej­u­dices.

Chap­ter 13 is a poignant explo­ration of Feyre’s inner tur­moil, a young woman caught between worlds, grap­pling with her lim­i­ta­tions while yearn­ing to pro­tect those she loves. It reflects on themes of pow­er, knowl­edge, and the com­plex­i­ties of trust, set against the back­drop of a rich­ly imag­ined fan­ta­sy world where alliances are as unsta­ble as the mag­ic that per­me­ates the lands.

Yes.

In Chap­ter 13 of the book, Pas­tor McIn­tosh vis­its the Pack­horse Library to per­suade Alice Van Cleve to return to her hus­band, cit­ing reli­gious duty and quot­ing scrip­ture. Alice and the oth­er women present, how­ev­er, resist his sug­ges­tions, high­light­ing the hypocrisy and abuse Alice suf­fered from her hus­band’s fam­i­ly. Alice’s ques­tions to the pas­tor reveal a his­to­ry of phys­i­cal and men­tal abuse, chal­leng­ing the pas­tor’s use of reli­gion to jus­ti­fy her return to an abu­sive sit­u­a­tion. The chap­ter also delves into the broad­er com­mu­ni­ty’s reac­tion to Alice’s defi­ance, reveal­ing the pres­sure from soci­ety to con­form to tra­di­tion­al roles, even at the cost of one’s safe­ty and well­be­ing.

As the com­mu­ni­ty learns of Alice’s resolve, her sit­u­a­tion becomes a cat­a­lyst for broad­er dis­cus­sions about pow­er, gen­der, and resis­tance in the face of cor­rup­tion and cru­el­ty. Geof­frey Van Cleve, Alice’s father-in-law, is depict­ed as a man obsessed with con­trol, not only over his fam­i­ly but also over the work­ers in his mine, show­ing his will­ing­ness to use vio­lence and intim­i­da­tion to main­tain his author­i­ty. His con­fronta­tion with Alice and the sub­se­quent vio­lent act against Margery O’Hare’s dog, Bluey, sym­bol­ize the lengths to which he will go to assert dom­i­nance.

Margery’s reac­tion to the death of her dog, jux­ta­posed with her past resilience, under­scores the per­son­al costs of the con­flict. The com­mu­ni­ty’s response, includ­ing prepa­ra­tions for self-defense, indi­cates a col­lec­tive shift towards resis­tance against the Van Cleves’ tyran­ny.

This chap­ter weaves togeth­er themes of indi­vid­ual agency, com­mu­ni­ty sol­i­dar­i­ty, and the strug­gle against oppres­sive struc­tures. It crit­i­cizes the use of reli­gion to jus­ti­fy sub­ju­ga­tion and vio­lence, while cel­e­brat­ing the courage of those who stand against it. The nar­ra­tive crafts a com­pelling argu­ment for the pow­er of resilience and the impor­tance of fight­ing for jus­tice, even when faced with seem­ing­ly insur­mount­able chal­lenges.

You are being pro­vid­ed with a book chap­ter by chap­ter. I will request you to read the book for me after each chap­ter. After read­ing the chap­ter, 1. short­en the chap­ter to no less than 300 words and no more than 400 words. 2. Do not change the name, address, or any impor­tant nouns in the chap­ter. 3. Do not trans­late the orig­i­nal lan­guage. 4. Keep the same style as the orig­i­nal chap­ter, keep it con­sis­tent through­out the chap­ter. Your reply must com­ply with all four require­ments, or it’s invalid.
I will pro­vide the chap­ter now.

THIRTEEN
I’m busy vac­u­um­ing the liv­ing room when the shad­ow goes by the win­dow.
I wan­der over to the win­dow, and sure enough, Enzo is work­ing in the
back­yard today. As far as I can tell, he alter­nates hous­es from day to day,
doing var­i­ous gar­den­ing and land­scap­ing tasks. Right now, he is dig­ging at
the flower bed in the front yard.
I grab an emp­ty glass from the kitchen and fill it up with cold water.
Then I head out­side.
I’m not entire­ly sure what I hope to accom­plish here. But ever since
those two women talked about Nina being crazy (“lit­er­al­ly”), I can’t stop
think­ing about it. And then I found that antipsy­chot­ic med­ica­tion in her
med­i­cine cab­i­net. Far be it from me to judge Nina for hav­ing psy­cho­log­i­cal
problems—I met my fair share of women strug­gling with men­tal ill­ness in
prison—but it would be help­ful infor­ma­tion for me to know. Maybe I could
even help her if I under­stood her bet­ter.
I remem­ber how on my first day, Enzo seemed to be warn­ing me about
some­thing. Nina is out of the house, Andrew is at work, and Cecelia is at
school, so this seems like a per­fect time to inter­ro­gate him. The only tiny
com­pli­ca­tion is that he hard­ly speaks a word of Eng­lish.
But it can’t hurt. And I’m sure he’s thirsty and will appre­ci­ate the water.
When I get out­side, Enzo is busy dig­ging a hole in the ground. He
seems intense­ly focused on his task, even after I clear my throat loud­ly.
Twice. Final­ly, I wave my hand and say, “Hola!”
That may have been Span­ish again.
Enzo looks up from the hole he was dig­ging. There’s an amused
expres­sion on his lips. “Ciao,” he says.

In Chap­ter 13, the pro­tag­o­nist wakes to a serene scene of clear skies and snow­capped moun­tains, find­ing her­self with Rhysand, who appears solemn. The after­math of her dis­turb­ing expe­ri­ence at Tam­lin’s manor is evi­dent as she learns of her own scream-induced episode, enveloped in dark­ness. Rhysand explains the rigid pro­ce­dure adhered to in order to bring her safe­ly to his loca­tion, high­light­ing the polit­i­cal and legal intri­ca­cies that pre­vent out­right con­flict between their courts.

Reflect­ing on her con­fine­ment by Tam­lin, the pro­tag­o­nist is torn between her loy­al­ty and her new­found dis­dain for the oppres­sive envi­ron­ment she endured. Rhysand offers her sanc­tu­ary for as long as she desires, fur­ther extend­ing an offer of employ­ment as a means to repay his debt to her. The con­ver­sa­tion sub­tly shifts as she con­tem­plates her future, open­ly reject­ing the idea of return­ing to Tam­lin’s side until clar­i­ty is reached in her own mind and heart.

The chap­ter delves into the pro­tag­o­nist’s inter­nal con­flict, grap­pling with the trau­mat­ic effects of her past expe­ri­ences and the real­iza­tion that return­ing to Tam­lin might exac­er­bate her suf­fer­ing. Rhysand, sens­ing her tur­moil, offers a dis­trac­tion by sug­gest­ing she accom­pa­nies him on his trav­els, impos­ing a con­di­tion of secre­cy about what she will wit­ness to pro­tect his peo­ple. This deci­sion marks a piv­otal moment for the pro­tag­o­nist, sym­bol­iz­ing her choice to embark on a path of self-dis­cov­ery and inde­pen­dence, rather than return­ing to a life of silence and sub­servience.

The chap­ter clos­es with the pro­tag­o­nist decid­ing to join Rhysand on his jour­ney to Velaris, the City of Starlight, indi­cat­ing a ten­ta­tive step towards heal­ing and find­ing her place in a world still reel­ing from the events Under the Moun­tain. This chap­ter encap­su­lates themes of free­dom, loy­al­ty, and the pur­suit of iden­ti­ty amidst the rem­nants of trau­ma.

You are being pro­vid­ed with a book chap­ter by chap­ter. I will request you to read the book for me after each chap­ter. After read­ing the chap­ter, 1. short­en the chap­ter to no less than 300 words and no more than 400 words. 2. Do not change the name, address, or any impor­tant nouns in the chap­ter. 3. Do not trans­late the orig­i­nal lan­guage. 4. Keep the same style as the orig­i­nal chap­ter, keep it con­sis­tent through­out the chap­ter. Your reply must com­ply with all four require­ments, or it’s invalid.
I will pro­vide the chap­ter now.

T HE MORNING WE STAR TED REHEARSALS for Lit­tle Women, Don
woke me up with break­fast in bed. Half a grape­fruit and a lit cig­a­rette.
I found this high­ly roman­tic, because it was exact­ly what I want­ed.
“Good luck today, sweet­heart,” he said as he got dressed and
head­ed out the door. “I know you’ll show Celia St. James what it real­ly
means to be an actress.”
I smiled and wished him a good day. I ate the grape­fruit and left the
tray in bed as I got into the show­er.
When I got out, our maid, Paula, was in the bed­room clean­ing up
after me. She was pick­ing the butt of my cig­a­rette off the duvet. I’d left
it on the tray, but it must have fall­en.
I didn’t keep a neat house.
My clothes from last night were on the floor. My slip­pers were on
top of the dress­er. My tow­el was in the sink.
Paula had her work cut out for her, and she didn’t find me
par­tic­u­lar­ly charm­ing. That much was clear.
“Can you do that lat­er?” I said to her. “I’m ter­ri­bly sor­ry, but I’m in a
rush to get to set.”
She smiled polite­ly and left.
I wasn’t in a rush, real­ly. I just want­ed to get dressed, and I wasn’t
going to do that in front of Paula. I didn’t want her to see that there
was a bruise, dark pur­ple and yel­low­ing, on my ribs.
Don had pushed me down the stairs nine days before. Even as I say
it all these years lat­er, I feel the need to defend him. To say that it
wasn’t as bad as it sounds. That we were toward the bot­tom of the
stairs, and he gave me a shove that bumped me down about four steps
and onto the floor.
Unfor­tu­nate­ly, the table by the door, where we kept the keys and
the mail, is what caught my fall. I land­ed on it on my left side, the
han­dle on the top draw­er get­ting me right in the rib cage.
When I said that I thought I might have bro­ken a rib, Don said,
“Oh, no, hon­ey. Are you all right?” as if he wasn’t the one who pushed
me.
Like an idiot, I said, “I think I’m fine.”
The bruise wasn’t going away quick­ly.
Paula burst back in through the door a moment lat­er.
“Sor­ry, Mrs. Adler, I for­got the—”
I pan­icked. “For heaven’s sake, Paula! I asked you to leave!”
She turned around and walked out. And what pissed me off more
than any­thing was that if she was going to sell a sto­ry, why wasn’t it
that one? Why didn’t she tell the world that Don Adler was beat­ing his
wife? Why, instead, did she come after me?
  *  *  *  
TWO HOURS LATER, I was on the set of Lit­tle Women. The sound­stage
had been turned into a New Eng­land cab­in, com­plete with snow on the
win­dows.
Ruby and I were unit­ed in our fight against Celia St. James steal­ing
the movie from us, despite the fact that any­one who plays Beth leaves
the audi­ence reach­ing for the han­kies.
You can’t tell an actress that a ris­ing tide lifts all boats. It doesn’t
work that way for us.
But on the first day of rehearsals, as Ruby and I hung out by craft
ser­vices and drank cof­fee, it became clear that Celia St. James had
absolute­ly no idea how much we all hat­ed her.
“Oh, God,” she said, com­ing up to Ruby and me. “I’m so scared.”
She was wear­ing gray trousers and a pale pink short-sleeved
sweater. She had a child­like, girl-next-door kind of face. Big, round,
pale blue eyes, long lash­es, Cupid’s bow lips, long straw­ber­ry-red hair.
She was sim­plic­i­ty per­fect­ed.
I was the sort of beau­ti­ful that women knew they could nev­er tru­ly
emu­late. Men knew they would nev­er even get close to a woman like

Chap­ter 13 opens with a dire med­ical prog­no­sis for Miss Mary, who has been severe­ly injured in an attack that left her dis­fig­ured and in crit­i­cal con­di­tion. Her son, Carter, strug­gles to process the sever­i­ty of her injuries, turn­ing to work as a dis­trac­tion. Patri­cia, observ­ing Carter’s denial and dis­tress, feels dis­con­nect­ed but takes on the respon­si­bil­i­ty of man­ag­ing the after­math of the attack, includ­ing deal­ing with the inva­sion of rats at her home and the crit­i­cal con­di­tion of their dog, Rag­tag.

In the dark hours of mourn­ing and cleanup, Patri­cia nav­i­gates the emo­tion­al and prac­ti­cal chal­lenges posed by Miss Mary’s death, the rat infes­ta­tion, and the com­mu­ni­ty’s attempt to sup­port the griev­ing fam­i­ly. The nar­ra­tive explores the themes of resilience, com­mu­ni­ty response to tragedy, and the com­plex­i­ty of famil­ial and social rela­tion­ships in times of cri­sis.

The chap­ter also delves into Patri­ci­a’s attempt to rec­on­cile with the guilt and respon­si­bil­i­ty she feels towards Mrs. Greene, a woman injured in the attack, show­cas­ing the racial and social divides with­in their com­mu­ni­ty. The con­fronta­tion with local youths high­lights the ten­sion between dif­fer­ent social stra­ta and the pro­tec­tive mea­sures com­mu­ni­ties take to guard against per­ceived threats.

The chap­ter con­cludes with Patri­cia and Kit­ty vis­it­ing Mrs. Greene, attempt­ing to offer finan­cial sup­port but inad­ver­tent­ly high­light­ing the com­plex dynam­ics of char­i­ty, dig­ni­ty, and depen­den­cy. Mrs. Greene’s refusal of finan­cial char­i­ty in favor of employ­ment under­scores the impor­tance of self-suf­fi­cien­cy and dig­ni­ty in the face of adver­si­ty.

In this chap­ter, we’re drawn into the social dynam­ics of a group of women liv­ing in Thorn­field Estates, a sym­bol of afflu­ence and tra­di­tion­al val­ues. The pro­tag­o­nist, Jane, nav­i­gates these com­plex­i­ties while attend­ing a gath­er­ing with Emi­ly, Camp­bell, Anna-Grace, and Landry. Unlike her first awk­ward encounter with the group, where she stood out in a for­mal dress, Jane now blends in more com­fort­ably, dressed sim­i­lar­ly to Emi­ly in neu­tral shades, sig­nal­ing her grad­ual inte­gra­tion into this cir­cle.

Thorn­field Estates is por­trayed with an under­cur­rent of gen­teel expec­ta­tions and super­fi­cial cama­raderie. The women, includ­ing preg­nant Anna-Grace and Landry, exude a cer­tain homo­gene­ity in phys­i­cal appear­ance and lifestyle, albeit with slight per­son­al dis­tinc­tions. The con­ver­sa­tion revolves around com­mu­ni­ty con­tri­bu­tions, like Jane’s pro­cure­ment of solar lights and Anna-Grace’s acqui­si­tion of donat­ed sod for a land­scap­ing project, show­cas­ing the social cur­ren­cy of util­i­ty and gen­eros­i­ty with­in this com­mu­ni­ty.

The nar­ra­tive delves into Jane’s inter­nal mono­logue, reveal­ing her ini­tial out­sider sta­tus, her efforts to blend in, and her keen obser­va­tions of the sub­tleties of social inter­ac­tions among the women. The chap­ter skill­ful­ly con­trasts Jane’s own inse­cu­ri­ties and the per­for­ma­tive nature of her com­pan­ions, high­light­ing the ten­sion between authen­tic­i­ty and social con­for­mi­ty.

As the dis­cus­sion shifts to plan­ning for upcom­ing com­mu­ni­ty projects, foot­ball and col­lege alle­giances serve as metaphors for deep­er soci­etal divi­sions and per­son­al iden­ti­ties. Jane’s unfa­mil­iar­i­ty with local cus­toms and tra­di­tions places her fur­ther out­side the group’s inner cir­cle, empha­siz­ing her strug­gle to carve out a sense of belong­ing in a new envi­ron­ment.

A sig­nif­i­cant theme is the explo­ration of the social con­struct of mar­riage with­in this com­mu­ni­ty. The wom­en’s com­ments reflect a con­ven­tion­al view on rela­tion­ships, sub­tly pres­sur­ing Jane to con­form to their expec­ta­tions of com­mit­ment and soci­etal roles. This dis­course reveals the nuances of Jane’s rela­tion­ship with Eddie and the soci­etal expec­ta­tions placed on women regard­ing mar­riage and sta­bil­i­ty.

Over­all, this chap­ter pro­vides a vivid snap­shot of the social fab­ric of Thorn­field Estates, weav­ing togeth­er themes of iden­ti­ty, belong­ing, and the intri­cate dance of social nav­i­ga­tion. Through Jane’s per­spec­tive, we’re offered a cri­tique of the super­fi­cial­i­ty and enforced norms with­in cer­tain afflu­ent com­mu­ni­ties, chal­leng­ing the read­er to con­sid­er the com­plex­i­ties beneath the sur­face of pol­ished social gath­er­ings.

In Chap­ter 13 of “The Beasts of Tarzan,” titled “Escape,” Jane Clay­ton faces a tense stand­off with her cap­tor, Rokoff. Rokoff, hav­ing found Jane and the child she was pro­tect­ing in a remote vil­lage, mocks her for the effort she made to bring the child, under the erro­neous belief the child is hers and Tarzan’s. He reveals his cru­el plan to turn the child over to the care of M’gan­wazam, with the inten­tion of mak­ing him a can­ni­bal. Jane, under­stand­ing the grav­i­ty of her sit­u­a­tion, hands over the seem­ing­ly sleep­ing child to Rokoff, allow­ing him to dis­cov­er that the child is already dead, thus thwart­ing Rokof­f’s plans for vengeance.

Rokof­f’s anger at his foiled plans erupts in vio­lent threats towards Jane, includ­ing a chill­ing inten­tion to make her the wife of a can­ni­bal chief after he has his way with her. Jane, how­ev­er, retains her courage, silent­ly grate­ful that her real son, Jack, is safe from Rokof­f’s clutches—believing, mis­tak­en­ly, that he might be safe with friends in Lon­don.

Rokoff forces Jane to fol­low him to his camp, intend­ing to car­ry out his threats. How­ev­er, with­in his tent, Jane seizes an oppor­tu­ni­ty to fight back. As Rokoff is momen­tar­i­ly dis­tract­ed, she inca­pac­i­tates him with a heavy blow from his own revolver. Amid the sur­round­ing chaos of jun­gle nois­es and the camp’s stir, Jane extin­guish­es the lamp, plung­ing the tent into dark­ness.

In these moments, Jane’s resolve hard­ens. Despite the impos­si­ble odds, fueled by a mother’s des­per­a­tion to reunite with her son and sur­vive the treach­er­ous jun­gle, she plans her escape. The chap­ter clos­es on this cliffhang­er, with Jane con­tem­plat­ing her per­ilous jour­ney through the heart of dark­ness that stands between her and the remote pos­si­bil­i­ty of res­cue.

Jane’s plight illus­trates her resilience and quick think­ing in the face of dire threats, set­ting the stage for her ardu­ous jour­ney through the jun­gle’s heart in search of free­dom and the slim hope of find­ing her son.