Marianne gasped. “Lily! Stop it! That’s Mr. Cross’s son. Apologize!”
Nathaniel’s world tilted.
His breath left him in a violent rush. His hand shot out, gripping the arm of a leather chair as dizziness surged through him.
“What… did you say?” His voice was hoarse. “You’re mistaken.”
“He didn’t die,” Lily said urgently. “He was at St. Brigid’s Home. We called him Caleb.”
The name struck like lightning.
Nathaniel shook his head. “My son is dead.”
“No,” Lily insisted, tears welling. “He was older when I knew him, but it was him. Same eyes. He drew all the time. He drew the ocean… and a big brown dog.”
Nathaniel staggered backward.
A brown dog.
Scout.
A detail never released. Never spoken outside the family.
“You’re lying,” he whispered, even as his heart began to fracture.
“I’m not,” Lily cried. “He protected me. They called him Quiet Caleb because he wouldn’t talk. But he talked to me. He said his real name started with an L. He said his dad was rich and would come for him. No one believed him.”
Marianne collapsed into sobs. “Mr. Cross… I adopted her three years ago. I volunteered at St. Brigid’s. Please—she doesn’t lie.”
Nathaniel straightened slowly.