I had learned to live with the explanation that the lake had taken him because people kept telling me that water does not return what it claims, yet hearing his voice again shattered the fragile acceptance I had forced myself to build.
I walked slowly down the hallway toward the front door while the hardwood floor felt cold beneath my bare feet and every step filled me with a strange mixture of hope and dread. My hand hovered above the lock for a moment because part of me feared that grief had finally twisted my mind into imagining things that could not exist. Then a soft knock sounded through the door followed by a faint voice that carried through the wood.
“Dad.”
My hands trembled so badly that turning the deadbolt became difficult, yet eventually the door swung open and the porch light revealed rain falling steadily from a dark sky. A young man stood on the steps soaked to the bone and shivering violently, and although his features reminded me strongly of my son the differences were obvious enough to show that he could not possibly be the same person.