Chapter 7

Estelle’s POV

I stood at JFK baggage claim watching the carousel spin while Chloe pressed against my hip. Seven years old now, all long legs and dark hair, Harrison’s eyes staring back at me every time I looked at her.

“When’s Aunt Daisy coming?” she asked, tugging my coat.

“Soon, sweetie.”

I’d built a good life in Austria as an auditory reconstructive surgeon, but the salary here was better and Chloe deserved the best education. So when the hospital invitation came, I accepted, even though coming back felt like walking into a fire I’d already survived once.

“Estelle!” Daisy’s voice cut through the airport noise and I turned to see her pushing through the crowd, waving frantically. She pulled me into a tight hug and I squeezed back hard, grateful for something familiar.

“And Chloe! You got so big!”

We drove all the way to our favorite restaurant. Daisy went inside with Chloe to order first, while I stayed behind, rummaging through the trunk for something.

I was elbow-deep in suitcases when I heard a small voice behind me.

“Excuse me?”

I turned around and looked down at a little boy, maybe seven or eight years old, with dark hair and big green eyes that were red from crying. He was twisting his hands together nervously.

I thought to myself that if my son were still alive, he would be about this age now.

“Hi there,” I said gently, crouching down to his level. “Are you okay?”

“I…I lost my daddy,” he said shakily, his bottom lip trembling. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

I reached out and touched his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll find him. What’s your name?”

“Lucas,” he whispered.

“Okay, Lucas. That’s a good name.” I smiled at him reassuringly. “Do you know your daddy’s phone number? We can call him.”

He nodded quickly and rattled off a string of numbers. I pulled out my phone and dialed, holding it to my ear while Lucas watched me anxiously. His eyes were so big and trusting, fixed on my face waiting for me to fix this.

Something about his face tugged at me—the shape of his nose, the way his eyebrows drew together when he was worried. I’d seen that expression before somewhere.

The number didn’t connect. Wrong number.

“Hmm, that didn’t work,” I said carefully, not wanting to scare him more. “Can you try again? Sometimes it’s hard to remember when we’re nervous.”

He scrunched up his face, thinking hard, then gave me another number.

I dialed again, watching him chew on his lip the same way Chloe did when she was worried about something.

Still nothing. The call went straight to a generic voicemail.

Lucas’s eyes filled with tears again and he hiccupped slightly, trying not to cry. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember—”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly when his eyes started welling up again. “You’re doing great, Lucas.”

“I keep forgetting the numbers and my daddy’s gonna be so worried—” he said miserably, rubbing his eyes.

“No, no, it’s okay,” I said quickly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His fingers were small and cold in mine. “You’re doing really good, Lucas. Really good. It’s not your fault.”

“I got distracted,” he confessed miserably, looking down at our joined hands. “Daddy said to stay close but I saw a dog and I followed it and then—and then I couldn’t find him anymore.”

“That happens,” I said softly, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “I bet your daddy is looking for you right now, and he’s going to be so happy when he finds you safe.”

Lucas looked up at me again, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. “You won’t leave, will you? Until we find him?”

Something squeezed in my throat at the question, at how scared he sounded. “I won’t leave,” I promised firmly. “We’ll find him together, okay?”

He nodded, relaxing slightly, and I noticed how he shifted closer to me, like he was trying to stay in my orbit.

For a child who’d just met me two minutes ago, he seemed remarkably comfortable now, his initial panic fading.

“Do you remember what your daddy looks like?” I asked, trying a different approach. “Maybe we can spot him in the parking lot.”

“He’s tall,” Lucas said immediately, brightening a little at the question. “And he has dark hair. And he was wearing a suit today because he had a meeting.”

I glanced around the parking lot, but there were several tall men in suits scattered around. “How about we find a police officer? They’re really good at helping kids find their parents.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, sniffling, but his hand stayed in mine, trusting.

I squeezed his hand once more and pulled him gently with me, when I heard it—a man’s voice getting closer, so desperate that heads turned all across the parking lot.

“Lucas! Lucas!”

I looked up and froze. Harrison, my ex-husband, was running straight toward us, calling Lucas’s name!