The boy nodded silently. That was all it took. Taking his hand, the caseworker left the apartment. Susan was left alone. A ringing silence suddenly enveloped her. She had grown used to being responsible for Alex, had started to see herself as his mother. No, she never thought she could replace her lost friend, but she had hoped to help the boy in some way. And now, it seemed, he didn’t need her. The moment this mysterious father appeared, he went right to him.
“Sue, it’s blood, I guess,” Paul said with a sigh when he came home from work and learned what had happened. “There’s nothing we can do. They’re family.”
“What if he hurts him?” Susan sobbed.
“Alex knows our number. He’ll call if something’s wrong,” Paul reassured her. “You need to calm down. Let’s take some time to recover from this, and then we’ll go back to the agency. We can find a baby to adopt. We have almost all the paperwork ready anyway.”
“I don’t know if I can right now,” Susan shook her head. “I got so attached to Alex.”
“Me too,” Paul nodded.
They sat in the kitchen for a long time, in silence. It was a heavy feeling. They had found a new purpose in life, a person to care for. And just like that, it was gone. As if their oxygen had been cut off.
Meanwhile, Alex was on his way to his father’s house, sitting in a large, luxurious car. The boy looked out the window, at the back of the driver’s head, and then at the smug, plump woman beside him.
“Your life is about to change,” Tamara Evans smiled. “It’s going to be like a fairy tale. Your dad loves you.”
The boy looked at her skeptically. Could it really be like that? But the woman was right. A father had to love his son.
They entered a gated community and soon stopped in front of a two-story mansion. A security guard came out, spoke briefly with the driver, and went to open the gates. The car drove onto the grounds of a large, wealthy estate. Alex had only seen places like this in movies. The man from yesterday, Michael, was coming down the wide steps from the house. He had a sheepskin coat thrown over his shoulders and was hurrying toward them.
“Good evening,” Tamara Evans beamed. “Here we are.”
“Hello,” Michael replied gruffly, his eyes fixed on the boy. “Well, son. Welcome.”
“Hi,” Alex mumbled, feeling shy.
He had imagined their meeting many times, but he never expected his father to be like this: rich, successful. Michael put an arm around his son, patted his thin shoulder, and started walking with him toward the house, leaving Tamara Evans blinking in surprise. Then he remembered himself.
“You go on ahead, son. I’ll be right there.”
Michael turned back to Tamara Evans, handed her a thick envelope, and instructed the driver to take her wherever she needed to go.
Alex stood hesitantly at the bottom of the grand porch. It was so shiny and beautiful.
“Come on, Alex, let’s talk,” Michael winked and opened the front door.
In the foyer, they were met by an elderly woman in a white apron with her lips pressed into a thin line. “She looks mean,” Alex thought.
“Hello, Grandma,” the boy said uncertainly.
The old woman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Michael burst out laughing.
“Alex, this isn’t my mother. This is my housekeeper,” he said, still chuckling. “Emma.”
“Good evening, young man,” the woman said dryly, then turned to her employer. “Dinner is served.”
“Perfect,” Michael nodded. “I’m starving. How about you, Alex?”
The boy gave a weak nod. The whole situation, the new people, had put him in a state of shock. He was beginning to understand less and less why he was even here. He didn’t see any particular joy in the eyes of this big man who was his father. Yes, he laughed and joked, but his eyes were cold.
They ate in silence. Alex wasn’t sure how to use all the different utensils and mostly stuck to his spoon. He tried the salad, had a little of some fancy-named soup, and was already full. Michael, however, ate with a hearty appetite, still in silence.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Michael asked, surprised.
“I’m full.”
“Alright then. Go to your room. Emma will show you the way,” he said.
Alex looked at his father, puzzled.
“What about talking? Getting to know each other?”
The boy had hoped his father would tell him about his mom, how they met, and explain why he had been gone for so long. Instead, he was being sent to his room.
“I wanted to ask,” the boy ventured, “why did you and Mom break up?”
“Later, all in good time,” Michael waved him off. “Go rest now.”
The old woman in the white apron took the boy firmly by the hand. Alex had never been in a mansion like this. His room had a wide, soft bed, a huge TV, a laptop on a desk, a comfortable armchair, and his own private bathroom. Alex enjoyed the shower, then sank into the luxurious bed and fell asleep, not hearing the key turn in the lock of his bedroom door.
He dreamed of his mother. She was standing in the middle of a field of daisies, holding her hands out to him, but he just stared at her. She smiled, then suddenly went pale and screamed something, but he couldn’t understand a word. Then the wind blew, and his mother became transparent, like smoke. Alex tried to step toward her but realized his feet were tied together. He started to fall and woke up in terror.
The boy sat up in bed, shaking his head. What a strange dream. He decided to forget it; it was just a dream. Alex looked around. Sunlight was peeking through a crack in the heavy curtains. He jumped up and ran to the window to open them, then recoiled. There was a sturdy, wrought-iron grille on the window. He thought for a moment: well, maybe it’s like on the first floor of apartment buildings. Outside, he could see a forest. It was early spring, and beyond a distant iron fence lay a snow-covered field. It was probably beautiful in the summer. Alex suddenly remembered he hadn’t really seen the house yesterday and decided to explore. He pulled on the door, but it was locked. He pulled the handle more insistently, then knocked. A few moments later, he heard footsteps. A key scraped in the lock.
“What’s all the noise?”
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