Paulie shrugged, as if it were an old, settled fact.
— “Mom left a long time ago. With some other guy. Dad says she walked out on us. Now Dad just looks right through me, like I’m not even there.”
Eleanor bit her lip. The cabin grew quiet, save for the ticking of the clock and the wind outside. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked. Paulie finished his tea and set the mug down. He looked at Eleanor with a desperate sort of intensity.
— “Can I stay here with you?” he blurted out.
Eleanor froze. Those words… she had heard them thirty years ago. Another boy, with that same look of desperation, had once told her: “Mom, please don’t drink, I’ll help with the chores, just stay awake.” She closed her eyes, her fists clenching. No. She couldn’t go back there. Not now.
— “We’ll see,” she said, forcing a smile. “But for now, you need sleep. You’re exhausted.”
Paulie nodded obediently. Eleanor tucked him into her own bed, layering on the quilts. The boy curled into a ball, closed his eyes, and drifted off almost instantly. His breathing leveled out, becoming soft and rhythmic.
Eleanor sat in her old armchair by the window, watching him sleep. She wept silently in the dark.
Outside, voices drifted through the rain. Eleanor wiped her face with her sleeve and stood up. She opened the door to find two local men, Jim and Bill, standing on her porch. They had their hunting gear on, their raincoats dripping.
— “Ellie, we saw your lights on late,” Jim said, tipping his cap. “Everything okay?”
— “I have a boy here,” Eleanor said quietly. “He got lost coming from the Grand Pine Lodge.”
The men exchanged a look.
— “Call the sheriff,” Eleanor requested. “Let them know he’s safe. If anyone’s looking, tell them he’s here.”
— “Will do,” Bill nodded. “Don’t you worry, Ellie.”
They disappeared into the night. Eleanor leaned back against the door, listening to the old house breathe. She walked over to the bed and looked at Paulie. His face was relaxed in sleep, a faint, innocent smile touching his lips. Eleanor reached out, barely brushing his hair with her fingertips.
— “Forgive me, Lord,” she whispered. “For everything.”
A small candle flickered in front of a framed photo on the mantle, casting a soft glow on her face. Her eyes held a deep, ancient pain—the kind that never truly heals. It was a pain she had been trying to outrun for fifteen years, living in this cabin on the edge of town where no one knew her past.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the faded curtains, painting the room in gold. Paulie woke up and blinked, confused for a moment. He sat up, huddled in the quilts. From the kitchen came the sound of a sizzling pan and the sweet smell of batter. Eleanor was at the stove, flipping pancakes with a wooden spatula. Her hair was pulled back in a neat braid, a simple cardigan over her shoulders.
— “Morning,” she said without turning around. “Go ahead and wash up. Breakfast is almost ready.”
Paulie slid out of bed and found the sink by the window. The water was cold, but he didn’t complain. He dried his face with a towel that smelled like sunshine and sat at the table. Eleanor set a stack of pancakes in front of him, drizzled with maple syrup. Paulie ate like he hadn’t seen food in a week.
— “This is so good!” he said with his mouth full, making Eleanor smile.
— “Eat up,” she nodded, sitting across from him. “You need your strength.”
— “You know,” he said, kicking his legs under the table, “my dad is really important. He’s a big developer in Chicago. He has a huge office and hundreds of people working for him.”
Eleanor nodded, resting her chin on her hand.
— “His name is Andrew Miller,” Paulie continued. “He’s always busy. Always on his phone, always in meetings. I barely see him.”
Eleanor went rigid. The hand holding her coffee mug trembled. A bit of coffee splashed onto the table, but she didn’t seem to notice.
— “Miller?” she whispered, her eyes locked on the boy. “Andrew Miller?”
— “Yeah,” Paulie nodded, stuffing another bite of pancake into his mouth.
Inside Eleanor, something shattered. It felt like a physical blow to the chest. She looked away, wiping the table with a rag to hide her shaking hands.
— “Do you look like your dad?” she asked, her voice strained.
Paulie shrugged.
— “I don’t know. People say I look like my mom.”
— “And your dad?”
— “He’s tall. Serious. And his eyes are… cold. Like ice.”
Eleanor didn’t answer. She stared out the window at the gravel road leading to the cabin. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Suddenly, the faint wail of a siren drifted through the air. It grew louder, closer. Eleanor stood up and walked to the window. Two Sheriff’s SUVs and a black Cadillac Escalade were tearing up the road, kicking up clouds of dust.
— “They’re here,” Paulie whispered, sliding off his chair. “Dad found me.”
The vehicles screeched to a halt. The doors flew open, and a man in an expensive wool overcoat stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. Three men in suits—security—and two deputies followed him.
Before Eleanor could even draw a breath, the front door was shoved open. The man stormed in, his eyes frantic until they landed on Paulie.
— “Where is my son?”
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