PART 8
Not from the phone.
From the hallway outside the nursery.
The bedroom door slowly creaked open.
A tiny barefoot boy stood there wearing oversized gray pajamas.
Thin.
Pale.
Terrified.
But alive.
His eyes landed directly on me.
And I swear my heart recognized him before my mind did.
He looked exactly like Matthew.
Exactly like me.
The little boy trembled violently before whispering:
“You came back.”
I broke.
I dropped to my knees sobbing.
“Oh my God…”
He ran straight into my arms.
And the second I held him, something inside me shattered forever.
Because mothers know.
No matter how many lies they are told.
No matter how many years are stolen.
I knew this child.
I knew him.
Behind me, Spencer whispered, “Ethan…”
Ethan.
They had given my son a name without me.
The little boy clung desperately to my neck like he thought I might disappear again.
“I tried to be quiet,” he whispered through tears. “Grandma said if I cried, they would take Matthew too.”
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Rage exploded through my body so violently I almost couldn’t see straight.
I stood up slowly while still holding Ethan.
