“She arrived days later,” Ms. Donnelly said. “She was pregnant and exhausted. She signed temporary custody papers and said she needed to find stable housing. She still calls once every month from different numbers. She always asks if Tyler is safe. She never gives an address.”
Aaron looked down at his hands.
“And my brother?” he asked quietly.
Ms. Donnelly slid a photograph across the desk. In it, Nathan stood thinner than Aaron remembered, eyes distant, beside a young woman holding a baby wrapped in a blanket.
“According to her,” Ms. Donnelly said, “Nathan suffered a serious accident. After that he struggled with memory. He would forget faces. He would leave the house and not remember why he left. She said he was afraid of becoming a burden, so he disappeared.”
Aaron felt a regret deeper than anger, because silence between brothers had now stretched long enough to swallow a family.
“Why did nobody contact me?” he asked.
Ms. Donnelly met his gaze.
“Because your brother removed you from emergency contacts,” she said gently. “And because adults sometimes let pride speak louder than responsibility.”