Chapter 1 - The Boy Outside the Gates
“PICK IT UP, TRASH BOY!”
A carton of chocolate milk burst against the little boy's shoulder. Three boys in Westbridge Academy sweaters laughed as fries scattered across the sidewalk. The child crouched beside a dented backpack and tried to gather the food with shaking fingers.
“Stop!” I shouted. My seven-year-old daughter, Lily, jerked against my hand. I stepped between the boys and the child. “Which one of you thinks this is funny?”
The tallest boy lifted his chin. “He keeps hanging around our school.”
“Then you tell an adult. You don't throw food at a hungry child.” I pulled out my phone. “Names. Now.”
Their smiles disappeared. They backed through the iron gates, muttering that I was making a big deal out of nothing. I was still furious when I turned around.
The boy wasn't crying. That was worse. He was nine at most, all sharp elbows, dirty sneakers, and a torn green sweatshirt. He was calmly wiping milk off his backpack as if humiliation were part of his morning routine.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, lowering myself to his level.
He shrugged. “I'm used to it.”
Lily slipped her unopened granola bar into his hand. “You can have mine.”
“Lily, honey—”
“I'm not hungry, Mom.” She was. I knew she was. The boy knew it too. His mouth tightened before he whispered, “Thanks.”
When he reached for his bag, his sleeve rode up. Something faded blue hung around his wrist, secured with knotted black thread. Not a bracelet. A hospital identification band, far too small to fit his wrist by itself. I knew that pale blue plastic. I knew the cramped handwriting across it.
BENNETT, BABY BOY. APR 19, 2017.
Under the date was a single crooked J, written in blue ink. I'd made that letter with a shaking hand nine years ago, when a nurse let me hold my newborn for the last time.
The sidewalk tilted. I gripped the gate.
“Ma'am?” the boy asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Because I recognized the shape of his eyes. Because my face was looking back at me. Because I had spent nine years pretending the worst day of my life was safely locked in the past.
“What is your name?” I managed.
“Eli.” He tightened his fist around Lily's granola bar. “Eli Grant.”
A school bell rang. Lily tugged my sleeve. “Mom, do you know him?”
May you like
Before I could answer, Eli glanced beyond my shoulder. His expression changed from cautious to terrified.
“Oh, no,” he whispered. “She's here.”
