“What’s going on?” I demanded.
Sarah stood quickly. “Mr. Collins—we didn’t expect you back yet.”
Her voice was strained.
Ethan whimpered and reached toward the object. Sarah gently blocked him.
“Not now, sweetheart,” she whispered.
That only made my suspicion worse.
“Move aside, Sarah.”
She hesitated—then shifted.
On the carpet lay a small wooden horse.
Broken.
One leg snapped clean off.
It wasn’t the toy itself that unsettled me.
It was the way Ethan looked at it.
Focused.
Intent.
Almost fierce.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It’s just a toy,” Sarah replied too quickly.
Ethan made a sound—low, emotional. He looked from the horse to me, eyes shining with something I couldn’t name.
“This isn’t just a toy,” I said.
Silence filled the room.
“Tell me the truth.”
Sarah inhaled slowly. “Ethan made it.”
I stared at her.
“Made it? That’s impossible.”
Fine motor skills had always been his greatest struggle. Specialists had made that clear. I had accepted the limits they described.
“With guidance,” Sarah said carefully. “He’s been carving for months. It’s how he expresses himself.”
Months.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”