She handed it to him.
It was a child’s drawing—simple lines, uneven colors. A big house. A swing hanging from a tree. A man holding hands with a little boy.
Victor’s breath hitched.
He had built that swing with his own hands.
“Where is he?” Victor’s voice trembled. “Where is he now?”
She pointed toward the end of the block.
“Over there. My mom takes care of him.”
Victor moved forward as though the world beneath him had disappeared. Every step felt unreal.
He stopped in front of a modest, weathered house and knocked, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
The door opened.
A woman stood there, her face tired but alert.
“Can I help you?” she asked carefully.
Before Victor could speak, a small figure appeared behind her.
Noah.
He looked thinner. His hair was longer, uneven. His eyes held a kind of distant fear. But it was him.
“Noah…” The word broke inside Victor’s chest as he dropped to his knees.
The boy stared at him, uncertain.
Then, softly:
“Dad…?”
The embrace that followed needed no explanation. Victor wrapped his arms around his son as if afraid he would disappear again. His shoulders shook. He did not try to hide his tears.
The woman let them hold each other before quietly explaining.