Chapter 3: The Boy Nobody Remembered
I didn’t sleep that night.
Not because Leo was hurt.
Not because of the police investigation.
Because of the way Claire had said those words.
Ethan wasn’t my mother’s son.
It sounded impossible.
But impossible things had been happening inside my house.
At 3:17 in the morning, I sat beside Leo’s bed and watched him sleep.
His small fingers held onto my shirt.
He refused to let go.
Every time I tried to move, he woke up.
“Daddy?””
“I’m here.””
“Don’t go away.””
My chest tightened.
“I won’t.””
The next morning, Claire made coffee but forgot to drink it.
She sat at the kitchen table, staring at the same spot for nearly ten minutes.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
She rubbed her hands together.
“When I was a kid, my mother had a foster child.””
“Ethan?””
She nodded.
“He was six years old.””
“What happened to him?””
Claire looked toward the living room.
Toward the damaged floor.
“My mother said he ran away.””
I waited.
“She told everyone the same story. Ethan disappeared one night.””
“Did you believe her?””
“I was twelve.””
Her voice cracked.
“What was I supposed to believe?””
I stood up.
“Claire, your mother had a hidden room under our house.””
“I know.””
The answer shocked me.
“You know?””
She looked terrified.
“I found it years ago.””
The room went silent.
“When?””
“When I was sixteen.””
I stared at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
“Because I thought it was empty.””
I shook my head.
“That doesn’t make sense.””
She wiped tears from her face.
“I opened the door once. There were old blankets. Toys. Drawings.””
“Drawings?””
She nodded.
“Pictures of a family.””
I felt sick.
“Who was in the pictures?””
She looked at me.
“Me.””
I froze.
“What?””
“Ethan drew me.””
She reached into a drawer and pulled out an old envelope.
“I kept this.””
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
A child’s drawing.
Two children standing beside a house.
Above them, written in messy handwriting:
*CLAIRE AND ETHAN FOREVER.*
My hands trembled.
“Why would your mother hide this?””
Claire didn’t answer.
Because the truth was already forming.
Elina knew.
She had always known.
At that moment, someone knocked on the front door.
Three slow knocks.
Everyone in the house went quiet.
I looked at Claire.
She looked terrified.
“Who is it?””
No answer.
I walked toward the door.
“David, wait.””
But I opened it.
A man stood outside.
Mid-forties.
Thin.
Dark jacket.
He looked past me into the house.
Then his eyes landed on Claire.
She covered her mouth.
“Ethan?””
The man stared at her.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then he smiled sadly.
“You got old.””
Claire stepped backward.
“No.””
The man looked at me.
“I guess your mother never told you the whole story.””
My heart started pounding.
“You’re Ethan Miller?””
He nodded.
“Yes.””
Behind me, I heard another sound.
A gasp.
I turned.
Elina was standing at the end of the hallway.
She looked at the man outside.
Then at Claire.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“You were supposed to be dead.””
