— “He told me,” Cassie said. “He said he missed his home, his dad, and his dog. He said his real name started with an ‘E.’ But he couldn’t remember the rest…”
Ellen was crying now.
— “Please, don’t listen to her. She was at the home, yes, but she’s young. She has an overactive imagination.”
Andrew straightened up. His face was ghostly, but his eyes were burning.
— “Where exactly did you see him?” he demanded.
— “St. Jude’s,” the girl repeated. “I was there since I was five. He was already there. We were friends. They called him ‘Quiet Matt’ because he didn’t talk much.”
— “But one day he told me he wasn’t an orphan,” she continued. “He said his dad was coming for him.”
In Andrew’s chest, something shifted, like thin ice breaking underfoot. He stood there, unable to move.
— “It’s impossible,” he whispered. “My son is gone.”
— “No,” Cassie said firmly. “He’s alive. He was with me. He protected me.”
Ellen was sobbing, but Andrew had tuned her out. He looked at the girl as if seeing a living person for the first time in a decade. There wasn’t a hint of deceit in her voice—only a raw, terrifying truth.
He walked slowly toward her.
— “You said he protected you?”
— “Yes,” she nodded. “One of the older boys tried to take my locket. Matthew stood in front of me and told him to stop. Then he gave me a drawing so I wouldn’t cry.”
— “A drawing?”
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