Lauren’s breath stalled. The resemblance was undeniable. Same brows, same mouth, the same thoughtful tilt of the head. Even the way he bit his lip while counting coins mirrored Noah exactly.
A memory stirred—bright hospital lights, voices fading as anesthesia pulled her under, waking with a strange emptiness she had never been able to explain. She had buried it, called it confusion.
“Mom,” Noah whispered, “his eyes are like mine.”
Before she could stop him, Noah ran. She called his name, but her voice dissolved in the heat.
He stopped in front of the boy, knocking over the box. Plastic toys scattered. They stared at each other, as if recognizing something older than memory.
The boy spoke first. “Hi. I’m Eli. Do you dream about white rooms and loud beeping too?”
Noah nodded. “We were babies. Together.”
Lauren approached, knees weak. “Eli… who takes care of you?”
He gestured toward a woman asleep on a nearby bench, her clothes faded, exhaustion etched into her face. “That’s Aunt Rosa. We sell things so we can eat. She needs medicine.”
The world tilted. Lauren pulled Noah back, heart racing.
“I’m not leaving him,” Noah cried. “He’s mine.”