“We should go inside,” she murmured.
Aaron lifted a hand slightly.
“Please wait,” he said. “My brother has that same tattoo. His name is Nathan Mitchell. I believe Tyler may be my nephew.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by a distant lawn mower. Ms. Donnelly studied Aaron’s face for a long moment, weighing instinct against caution, then finally nodded.
“Come inside,” she said. “We need to talk somewhere private.”
They sat in a modest office filled with drawings taped to walls and a half finished puzzle on a low table. Tyler ran off to join other children in a playroom, leaving the adults alone with a file folder that seemed to carry more weight than paper should.
Ms. Donnelly opened it carefully.
“Tyler was brought here two years ago,” she explained. “He was found near a bus terminal, wandering alone. He repeated one name over and over. Nathan.”
Aaron exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.
“What about his mother?” he asked.