On Sunday, a woman and her two sons came to pick up a photo that they ordered the day before. The envelope with the photo had her name and the price of the materials to print it out.

It was a grainy black and white photo of a young man.

“We asked the collections guy to blow it up to the biggest size,” said the woman. “How much do I owe you?”

“That’ll be five dollars.”

“My husband has the money, let me call him over. He’s just nervous and waiting outside.”


“Oh, this will be the first time he will ever see his birthfather.”

The husband stood outside smoking a cigar with shaking hands. His father had died in 1995 before he could track him down. The detective hunt had led to our Museum.

Once they had the photo, the wife, the two sons and the husband gathered around on the station platform to open the envelope.

“Look, dad, he has your nose!” said one of the sons.

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