A/N.: Thanks for the reviews and of course to my beta ParisAmy!

20.Hope – we cling to it, when rationally nothing can be changed

S.

I'm driving through Fresno. I don't have a lot : a photo from Dawn when she was younger and got pregnant with Ryan, and I know that I have to find someone in some trailer park. Impossible. Most of these parks don't even exist anymore. I arrive at one of them. It looks worse than shabby. It's the last one on the list. The last few haven't seen the woman. They might not have been living there when she came there. They might not remember her. The smell of alcohol radiating from them made me wonder whether these people remembered their names. I doubt that. I get out of my car.

"Hey, do you know who owns this park?" I ask a man who's watching me with a wary eye. He must be around his sixties, but alcohol destroys your body faster than you want it to. He's probably not as old as he looks.

"You're talking to him." I nod.

"I wanted to ask whether you've ever seen this woman." I show him the picture.

"Oh yes. She's legend in our stories of the good old times." The man smirks. A tiny feeling of hope glimpses up in my stomach. Maybe I finally have found a real track, not only another piece, but something that could actually help me to put the pieces together.

"Can you tell me about her?" I ask him.

"For a drink?" He asks me. Only a drink? I would give everything for some information that could help me to save the son I nearly lost once and that I'm now going to lose again - although I never really had him back until now.

"Sure." I answer. The guy leads me to a bar. I'd describe it as a dark dirty hole. The man orders a double whisky at the bartender and sits down in one of the stools. I sit down next to him and order a beer.

"So?" I ask him. He only grins and lightens a cigar. He takes a drag and blows the foul smoke into my face. I have to brace myself from not coughing or waving the smoke away.

"Well, this lady was Frank Atwood's wife. All people around here knew that we'd better not touch her. Jimmy once did and Frank beat the living hell out of him. She was dangerous. She wasn't satisfied with what Frank could offer her so she used to wander around here, tried to find someone who wanted to do her. We all knew better than doing that after what had happened to Jimmy. Only one day she came here devastated. She's had a huge fight with Frank and after Frank announced that he doesn't care anymore and that he doesn't want her back the men around here started to line up, waiting who was next. People say she's a legend in bed, but hard to satisfy. I don't know. I never tried her. After two days or so, Frank had enough of all the rumour. He came here and said if ever anyone touched his still wife, he'll regret it." I nod and take a sip from the bottle.

"And then?" I ask the man.

"Well, she was too frightened to go back home to Frank, but she couldn't stay here as well. Nobody wanted her around. She was a bunch of trouble. My friend took pity and let her stay with him. I think it was the only way this woman survived what happened. If she had gone home with Frank as he had told her to, he'd beaten her to pulp." The man says and took a final last swig from his whisky. Great. There's a number of potential fathers. This can be a long search. I order another double whisky for the man, in the hope he can tell me a little more.

"Thanks." He says. "For what do you need this story?" He asks me.

"There's someone who'd like to know who is father is." I answer him.

"The list of potential ones is long." The man answers. I feared that.

"Can you help me to make this list?" I ask him. This is all I can do. Making a list and then try one after another. This is going to be hell. I only hope that the search for the right one won't take too long. As bad as it sounds: Ryan's time's running out.

"Sorry there. I only know that my friend might be one of them. That's all." He answers.

"Did he and her…"

"I think so. She was like a ravenous wild cat." He answers.

"Is he still living here?"

"Nope, he made out a living again and left this pathetic place, but I can give you his address if you want to." The man says.

"I'd appreciate that." I answer him. I hand him a pen, and he scribble the address down on a napkin.

"Thanks, you've been a great help." I say, pay the bartender and place a hundred dollar note in front of the man. Now I only have to hope that this is the man I've been looking for. I don't know what I'll do if he's not. The feeling that my hope is minimised to one single person is awful. There's only this one chance. Nothing more. I have a look at the address. It's on the other end of the states – New York. I can include a visit at my mother then. I should stop the sarcasm. This is really not the time for thinking in these terms. This situation is much too serious as if I should think like that. I have to distract myself from the thought that this hope can be easily destroyed. Worst of all: it's me who has to deliver the defeating messages. It feels as if I was the one destroying the hope the others – my wife and my healthy son – have in me.

When I'm home I'm exhausted. I feel drained. I'm surprised to meet emptiness when I enter the kitchen. Usually always someone is occupied down here. I place my briefcase on the kitchen counter and poke my head around the corner of the kitchen to find my wife sitting on the couch. She's in her sport outfit. Right, today was day of yogalates. She has he legs drawn up under her chin, a pillow placed on top over her knees on which she rests her chin.

"Honey?" I ask her - worried that she hasn't recognised me when I entered the house. She looks up and I can see the tracks of tears on her cheeks.

"Oh my God what's wrong?" I rush over to her.

"He's giving up." She says and then let herself fall against my shoulder without uncurling from her position. I stroke over her hair and brush the tears out of her face.

"Whom are you talking about?" Her state doesn't seem to make sense to me, though it's terrifying familiar to me.

"Ryan…he's giving up." She tells me. What is all this about. The last few weeks everything seemed to go fine and now all out of a sudden this?

"Did something happen?" She nods snuffling. I grab in my pocket and hand her my handkerchief. She takes it and gently dries her tears and wipes her nose before she settles back into a more firm position.

"He collapsed in his lecture today. He's not…too badly injured, but the doctor told him that he shouldn't attend his lectures anymore. Oh, Sandy. You should have seen his face. He was devastated. With each part of independency he loses, he's giving up a little more." She tells me.

"Then you have to make it clear to him that he can't give up, that there is still something worth living for." I tell her. I would've included me, but I know that he wouldn't take my advice. Only small steps. That's all I can request.

"What, Sandy? It seems as if…his studies and becoming an architect were all he had, and if they take that away from him there's nothing left." She explains to me.

"But…this is only a break in his way. This doesn't mean that he'll never get where he wants to." I let her know.

"Sandy, we're talking about Ryan. He knows that this break, which he has no control over, can be detrimental to his career, and he knows how hopeless his overall-situation is as well. He has no spirit to fight." And I can add to it.

"It's not hopeless. There are still chances." I try to sooth her, swallowing heavy on the lump in my throat.

"What did you find out today?" She asks me.

"That Dawn was the mother of promiscuity. There's a list of potential fathers, but I have only one name and address." I tell her.

"Our last hope then. When do you go?"

"As soon as I can get a flight to New York."

"What kind of mother are you, when you're having that many men that you can't even tell who of them was the father of your children?"

"I only know that Dawn 's never been known for her capacity in being a mother."

"I don't know what to do. I have no clue of how to get him through to this.