“He was persistent, sir. Said only you would understand. He’s about ten. And his clothes… they suggest he’s not from a good area.”
Curiosity stirred — rare and unwelcome.
“And what is he returning?”
“He refused to say. Only that it’s yours. Something important.”
Victor exhaled. “Send him in. Quickly.”
Moments later, the door opened again.
The boy stepped inside.
Small, thin, dressed in worn but clean clothes — faded jeans, loose shirt, sneakers nearly smooth at the soles. Yet what struck Victor were his eyes. Deep hazel eyes, carrying a sadness too heavy for a child.
The boy approached slowly and held out an old, wrinkled envelope with both hands.
“I’m just here to return this to you, sir,” he said softly.
Victor took it, suspicion flickering through his mind. A trick? A scam? He opened the envelope.
Inside was not a document or check.
It was a faded photograph.
His hand trembled.
The image showed a young woman with bright, joyful eyes and a radiant smile. Beside her stood a younger version of himself — unmistakable. In his arms, a baby wrapped in a blanket.
The air left his lungs.
The woman. The child. A past he had buried beneath ambition.