Chapter 3 Muscle Memory

Once everything was sorted at the police station, I headed over to Mia's mother's place to pick up Ethan.

But I didn't expect what happened next.

The second he saw me, Ethan didn't run into my arms. Didn't call me "Dad" in that sweet little voice like he used to. In fact, he didn't call me anything at all.

He didn't remember me.

Later, after he started school and began hanging out with other kids, things only got worse. He didn't just forget me—he began to resent me. Said I wasn't like the other dads. Said I didn't have a "real job." Said I wasn't cool.

That stung.

The officer's voice snapped me back to the present. He told me what had really happened.

Cole, my nephew, had never gotten on that boat after all.

As it turned out, he was smart enough to hide in a dumpster when the traffickers weren't looking. A homeless man found him and took him in. They lived hand-to-mouth, just the two of them, scraping by on the margins of society.

Recently, the old man passed away. Someone found Cole living alone and called the police.

That was how they found him.

I couldn't believe it when I saw him. He was rail thin, skin darkened by sun and dirt, eyes wide and wary like a stray cat unsure whether to bolt or beg. It broke my heart.

I crouched down to meet his gaze. "Hey, buddy. Don't be scared. I'm your uncle."

He blinked slowly, not sure what to make of me.

I smiled through the knot in my throat. "You're safe now, okay? You'll never have to go hungry or cold again. From now on, we will live together."

My brother-in-law had been an orphan, so there were no grandparents left. No distant relatives to call. I was all Cole had in this world.

I brought him home and washed the grime from his tiny frame before dressing him in clean clothes. When I took his hand, I saw it—his fingers were swollen and cracked with frostbite.

I grabbed the first aid kit and gently rubbed ointment over the sores. He didn't make a sound. Tough little guy. He flinched, but he didn't cry.

To distract him, I turned on a cartoon. "Watch this for a bit. I'll make you some mac and cheese."

By the time I came back with the bowl, he had curled up on the couch and fallen asleep. His face was soft, his little body rising and falling with steady breaths.

I pulled a blanket over him, and that was when he stirred.

He rubbed his eyes, confused and groggy. The image hit me like a punch. Ethan used to look just like that when he was little. He would wake up slowly and cling to me like a sleepy sloth.

I couldn't help it. I scooped Cole into my arms. He didn't wrap himself around my neck like Ethan used to. Instead, he reached out and gently touched my cheek.

I blinked back at the sudden sting in my eyes. "Cole, I'm your uncle. From now on, this is our home, alright?"

He looked up at me, those big eyes of his shining brightly. "Uncle? Why aren't you my dad?"

I smiled. "Because I'm your mom's big brother. That makes me your uncle. Do you want to see pictures of your mom and dad?"

He nodded.

So, I held him on my lap and flipped through old photo albums, telling him the stories behind each snapshot.

When we finished, he leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Uncle."

And just like that, my heart melted.

Cole was already old enough to start school, but he had never set foot in a classroom. Hence, I contacted a nearby preschool and got him enrolled right away.

He adapted fast. Didn't cry, didn't cling. Nothing like Ethan, who had thrown tantrums for weeks.

Our days settled into a quiet rhythm. I kept busy, and Cole grew more comfortable. We became closer with each passing day.

I had always liked cooking, especially snacks and other simple dishes. Stuff Ethan used to turn his nose up at.

But Cole? He devoured everything like it was gourmet cuisine.

One afternoon, I was in the kitchen frying up a batch of pumpkin fritters when my phone rang.

It was Mia.

Her voice was raspy, like she had just rolled out of bed. "Hey… there's a grand opening at the mall tomorrow."

Out of pure habit, I rattled off which dress matched which jewelry, even told her exactly which closet and which hanger it was on.

Then I stopped. Silence stretched between us.

The words had come too easily. It was muscle memory, like I was still part of her world without even realizing it.

I could hear her rustling around on the other end, searching through the wardrobe.

When she didn't say anything, I cleared my throat. "If that's all, I'm going to hang up."

But then she asked, "Do you want to come with me tomorrow?"

I let out a quiet laugh. When we were married, I had begged her to let me attend events with her. She shot me down every time. Now that we were divorced, she suddenly wanted company.

"No thanks," I said flatly. "And don't call me again. You've got stylists and assistants for a reason. We're not together anymore, remember?"