Chapter 1
The little boy looked no older than six when he walked into my diner and asked for food. Then a woman threw bread at his feet and said, “Get on your knees and eat it.”
I was behind the register at my small diner outside Dallas when the front door opened.
The boy stood there barefoot, his shirt torn at the shoulder and his face covered in dirt.
“Sir,” he whispered, “do you have anything I can eat?”
Before I could answer, a woman named Patricia turned from her table and stared at him.
Patricia came in every Sunday wearing expensive jewelry and complaining about everything.
She looked the boy up and down.
“People are trying to eat,” she snapped. “Get out.”
The boy lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Patricia picked up a piece of bread from her plate.
For one second, I thought she was going to hand it to him.
Instead, she threw it onto the floor.
Several customers froze.
“There,” she said. “If you’re that hungry, get on your knees and eat it.”
The boy stared at the bread.
His hands began shaking.
I came around the counter.
“Patricia, that’s enough.”
She laughed.
“Oh, please, Michael. Kids like this need to learn they can’t walk into businesses begging.”
The boy slowly bent down.
“Don’t,” I told him.
He stopped.
Patricia folded her arms and said, “Why not? He wanted food.”
I picked up the bread, threw it in the trash, and told my cook to make the boy a full meal.
That was when Patricia stood up.
“If you feed every stray who walks in here, you’ll be bankrupt in a year.”
The boy suddenly looked at me.
“You’re Michael?”
Something about the way he said my name made my stomach tighten.
“Yes,” I said. “Michael Carter.”
His face changed.
He reached inside his torn shirt and pulled out a small plastic bag.
Inside was an old photograph.
“I was told to find you.”
My hands went cold before I even touched it.
The photo showed me fifteen years younger, standing beside a woman I had once planned to marry.
A woman who disappeared without telling me why.
Her name was Emily.
The boy pointed at her with one dirty finger.
“That was my mommy.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Then he turned the photograph over and handed it to me.
There were six words written on the back in Emily’s handwriting.
May you like
“Michael, please take care of our son.”
