— “This isn’t a place for children.”
— “Yes, of course,” Ellen nodded quickly. “Come on, Cassie,” she added, reaching for the girl’s hand.
But Cassie didn’t move. She stood frozen, her gaze locked onto the portrait above the fireplace.
— “Cassie,” her mother hissed, but the girl didn’t react. She took a step forward, drawn to something only she could see.
Andrew scowled.
— “Young lady, didn’t you hear me? Leave.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she raised a hand and pointed slowly at the portrait. Her voice was steady but quiet when she spoke.
— “That boy,” she whispered. “I know him.”
Ellen went pale.
— “Cassie, that’s enough!”
But the girl ignored her. She took another step. Her eyes filled with a strange, haunting recognition.
— “Mr. Sterling, that boy lived with me at the group home.”
The words hung in the air like a physical blow. Time seemed to stop. Andrew felt something heavy and long-buried snap inside him.
— “What did you say?” he asked, his voice cracking.
— “St. Jude’s Children’s Home,” the girl said, as if afraid she wouldn’t be believed. “We were in the same group. They called him Matthew. He… he was older than me, but that’s him.”
Ellen rushed to her, grabbing her shoulders.
— “Be quiet,” she whispered fiercely. “Sir, I am so sorry. She’s just a child, she’s confused.”
Andrew didn’t hear her. His head was spinning. Matthew? St. Jude’s? He stepped back, steadying himself against his desk. The room tilted.
— “You’re lying,” he breathed, though there was no conviction in his words.
Cassie looked up at him, her eyes welling with tears.
— “I’m not. He used to sit by the window and draw. He drew the ocean and a big brown dog. He said the dog’s name was Buddy.”
Andrew froze. Buddy? His son had been inseparable from their chocolate lab. They had spent every weekend at the beach house, chasing gulls. No one outside the family knew that name.
— “No one…” he staggered. The memory hit him: a sunny day, a laughing boy, a dog running through the surf.
— “Buddy,” he repeated in a whisper. “How could you possibly..?”
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