A name Ethan hadn’t allowed himself to think about in years.
The woman who vanished from his life a decade ago with nothing but a short message:
I’m sorry. This is for the best.
A faint ringing filled his ears.
“Your mother…” Ethan began—but stopped when he saw Noah’s expression shift.
“She died,” Noah said quietly. “Two months ago.”
Oliver, not fully understanding, shrugged off his hoodie and placed it over Noah’s shoulders.
“He’s cold, Dad,” he said gently. “Can he come with us?”
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
My brother.
That word again.
He looked closer this time—really looked.
The jawline. The guarded stillness. The way Noah watched everything before reacting.
It wasn’t imagination anymore.
“Where have you been staying?” Ethan asked, his voice lower now.
“Park benches. Sometimes behind a bakery,” Noah replied.
Oliver squeezed his hand.
Ethan exhaled slowly, feeling his carefully structured life fracture in real time.
“Let’s get something to eat,” he said. “All three of us.”
At the restaurant, Noah ate like someone torn between hunger and embarrassment.
Oliver filled the silence—asking about soccer, drawing, favorite foods—like they were already friends.
Like they had always been.