And now this boy stood before him with Sophia’s eyes. Carrying her last name.
“Your mother,” Jonathan whispered, gripping the doorframe. “What’s her name?”
“Sophia Bennett. Do you know her?”
The world went silent.
“She’s alive, sir,” Lucas added, unsettled. “Are you okay?”
Ethan stepped closer. “Dad, he’s my friend. The one I told you about. He didn’t have shoes, so I gave him mine. The teacher said I shouldn’t, but he needed them more.”
Jonathan looked at his son—this small boy who had inherited a kindness he himself had lost.
“You did the right thing,” he murmured, kneeling before Lucas. “You did exactly right.”
He slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around the trembling child’s shoulders.
“Where do you live, Lucas?”
“Riverdale. On Maple Street.”
A struggling neighborhood nearly an hour from the estate that suddenly felt grotesque.
“Does your mom know you’re here?”
Lucas shook his head, eyes shining. “She’ll be mad. But I had to return the shoes. We’re not thieves.”
Something cracked inside Jonathan’s chest.
“No,” he thought. “You’re my son.”
“Come on,” he said quietly. “I’ll take you home.”
The drive felt endless. Who lied to me? Why?
