Michael dropped to his knees, ignoring his expensive suit and the curious stares.
“It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you,” he said softly, pointing to the necklace. “Where did you get that?”
The child immediately covered the star with his hand.
“It’s mine. My mom gave it to me.”
Michael’s heart pounded painfully.
“Your mom?” he whispered. “What’s her name?”
The child hesitated.
“She… she used to call me Ethan. But other people call me Jake.”
The ground seemed to tilt.
Isabella had been five when she disappeared.
This child looked about ten.
The years aligned too perfectly.
“Do you remember anything else about her?” Michael asked carefully. “Where is she now?”
The child’s expression darkened with a sadness far too old for his face.
“She left two winters ago. She was sick. Before she died, she told me never to take off the necklace. She said if one day a man recognized it… I should trust him.”
Michael’s legs nearly gave out.
“Did she ever tell you her real name?”
The child nodded slowly.
“Isabella.”
There was no logic left.
No doubt.