Ethan Carter stepped out the side entrance of the glass tower where his company—Carter Tech Solutions—never truly slept. Behind him, through the towering windows, a flawless Christmas tree glowed, decorated by people he barely knew, for a celebration he wouldn’t attend.
His coat was unbuttoned, his phone vibrating with unread messages, but his thoughts were stuck on one thing: Noah, his eight-year-old son, waiting at home in his ugly reindeer sweater, asking the same question he always did.
“Are you coming home to read with me tonight, Dad?”
Ethan had answered yes with the same certainty he used in boardrooms.
And with the same familiar guilt.
He was cutting through a narrow alley between dumpsters when he heard it—not a cry, just a fragile thread of a voice.
“Sir… I’m just trying to find my mom.”
Ethan stopped. His shoes scraped against the icy pavement as he turned, his chest tightening painfully.