My heart tightened.
“You said he died.”
“I thought he did.”
He looked toward the window again.
“And then I saw that little boy.”
I followed his gaze.
The child inside was now standing beside the woman.
He turned toward the window.
For a second, I saw his face.
Ethan’s entire body went rigid.
“That’s him.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
I stared at him.
“Ethan, that’s impossible.”
“I know what my brother looked like.”
“But you said he died.”
“I was nine.”
His voice cracked.
“I saw a fire. I saw my father carrying my mother outside. Then someone told me Michael was gone.”
He swallowed.
“I never saw his body.”
I looked at the house.
The little boy had disappeared from the window.
Then the front door opened.
The elderly woman stepped outside.
She stared directly at Ethan.
Her expression changed.
She whispered something.
Then she began walking toward us.
Ethan backed away.
“No.”
The woman stopped several feet away.
“Ethan?”
He didn’t answer.
She covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
She started crying.
“I knew you would come back one day.”
My husband looked at me.
Then at her.
“Who are you?”
The woman wiped her eyes.
“My name is Margaret.”
She pointed toward the house.
“I’ve been taking care of Michael for twenty-three years.”
Ethan’s knees nearly gave way.
“Why?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Because your parents asked me to.”
“Why would they do that?”
She looked toward the house.
Then quietly said:
“Because Michael was never supposed to be found.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“What does that mean?”
Margaret looked directly at me.
“It means your husband’s parents lied to him.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“Why?”
Margaret’s face became serious.
“Because the boy they buried wasn’t Michael.”
Silence.
Ethan stopped breathing.
“Then who was it?”
Margaret looked at him with tears in her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
She lowered her voice.
“But I know why they needed everyone to believe Michael was dead.”
I looked toward the house.
The little boy was watching us from behind the curtain.
And then Margaret said something that made my blood run cold.
“Your husband’s parents didn’t abandon their son.”
She pointed at Ethan.
“They were hiding him from someone.”
Before Ethan could respond, the little boy suddenly ran outside.
He stopped in front of us.
He looked at Ethan.
Then he whispered:
“Are you my brother?”
Ethan fell to his knees.
And for the first time in twenty-three years, the two brothers looked directly at each other.
But there was one problem.
The little boy was only about nine years old.
Exactly the age Michael had been when he supposedly died.
And Margaret was already reaching for her phone.
“Ethan,” she whispered.
“You need to call your parents.”
“Why?”
“Because they need to know that Michael has finally been found.”
She paused.
Then added:
“And because the people who were looking for him may have just found him too.”
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