Daniel’s anger faded, replaced by confusion that hurt almost as much.
“Go home, kid. You’ll get sick out here.”
“I don’t have a home,” the boy said quietly, as if stating something obvious. “But she does. And she needs to know someone is still waiting for her to come back.”
Daniel walked away, heading toward his car—but the words stuck to him.
She needs to know someone is waiting.
Of course he was waiting. But his waiting was filled with fear, guilt, and darkness—feelings that might reach her even in her sleep. The boy’s waiting was different. It was light.
Over the next week, Daniel saw him every day. Rain or sun, at exactly seven in the morning, the boy—whose name he learned was Ethan—was there, kneeling in the same place. One morning, Daniel finally gave in. He brought two coffees and a sandwich, and they sat together on the emergency stairs.
“Do you really think it helps?” Daniel asked, staring down at the ground.
“My mom used to say people never really leave as long as someone talks to them from the heart,” Ethan said, eating gratefully. “Lily is lost somewhere… like in a thick forest. If no one calls her, how will she find her way back?”