I'm guessing you mean this bit:
The first photo is of a shabby house with a yellow front door and a large gabled window in the roof. It has a porch and a small front yard. It’s an unremarkable house. The second photo is of a family—at first glance, an ordinary bluecollar family—a man and his wife, I think, and their children. The adults are both dressed in dowdy, overwashed blue T-shirts. They must be in their forties. The woman has scraped-back blond hair, and the man a severe buzz-cut, but they are both smiling warmly at the camera. The man has his hand draped over the shoulders of a sullen teenage girl. I gaze at each of the children: two boys—identical twins, about twelve—both with sandy blond hair, grinning broadly at the camera; there’s another boy, who’s smaller, blonder, scowling; and hiding behind him, a copper-haired gray-eyed little boy. Wide-eyed and scared, dressed in mismatched clothes, and clutching a child’s dirty blanket.
*beep* “This is you,” I whisper, my heart lurching into my throat. I know Christian was four when his mother died. But this child looks much younger. He must have been severely malnourished. I stifle a sob as tears spring to my eyes. Oh, my sweet Fifty.
Christian nods. “That’s me.”
Meh, I didn't find it all that emotionally moving. Maybe if it were in a different context, I can see how it would be sad. The problem is that this bit was only a small detail incidental to a larger plot that was downright silly, and I was too busy complaining about that to be saddened by Christian's malnutrition.
Another thing that really bothered me about these books was the portrayal of Christian's bio-mom, so much so that it inspired a fanfic. The woman wasn't a saint, but she was clearly a victim of an incredibly abusive man. Yet Christian puts the blame almost entirely on her, while the pimp barely gets a mention. And it never gets properly addressed. It seemed like a missed opportunity.
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