— “Yes.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded, worn piece of paper.
— “It’s old, but I kept it.”
Andrew unfolded the paper. His hands were shaking. On it were two children and a large dog. It was a simple sketch, but it held everything. He recognized the wooden boat in the boy’s hand—the same one from the portrait.
— “Where did you get this?” he asked hoarsely.
— “He gave it to me,” Cassie said. “He told me I should remember that I had a protector.”
Andrew looked down at the drawing, and the room seemed to spin. A protector. His son had been a protector. Even in the darkness of a group home, he had remained a light.
He took a deep breath, trying to find his voice.
— “Ellen,” he said finally, “did you know your daughter was at St. Jude’s?”
— “Yes, Mr. Sterling,” she whispered. “I… I adopted her three years ago.”
— “From that specific home?”
— “Yes.”
Andrew gripped the edge of the desk to keep his balance. It all fit. The fire at St. Jude’s, the news reports, the lost records. And now this girl, appearing out of nowhere with memories of a boy named Matthew.
He looked up.
— “You won’t be returning to the staff quarters,” he said slowly. “You and your daughter are moving into the east wing. Right now.”
— “But… I don’t understand…”
— “It’s not a request,” he interrupted. “You are under my protection.”
Ellen froze.
— “Why?”
— “Because if what your daughter says is true,” he said, “she is the only person who has seen my son alive. And that means she might be in danger.”
Cassie watched him silently.
— “Will you find him?” she asked softly.
He looked at her, and for a moment, his face softened into something human.
— “I will find him,” Andrew said, his voice trembling. “I promise.”
He looked back at the portrait of the boy. The eyes in the painting seemed brighter now. For ten years he had lived like a ghost, and for the first time, a spark of hope flickered in his chest.
Night fell over the estate, as if the darkness itself were waiting to witness the collapse of a decade of lies….
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