“Sir,” the boy said firmly, despite the tension in his shoulders, “your son gave this to me at school, but my mother said I couldn’t keep it.”
For a moment, Lucas held his breath, waiting for the continuation.
It wasn’t the boy’s clothes or the quiet dignity with which he stood that tipped the world. It was his eyes. Warm, amber, eyelashes too long for a child’s; eyes that Lucas remembered from another face, from another life… eyes he thought were lost forever.
His fingers went limp. The glass slipped from his hand and shattered with a sharp, final thud on the marble behind him. Six-year-old Owen, who was halfway down the aisle, jumped back in horror.
“Dad?” What happened?
Lucas didn’t answer. He didn’t take his eyes off the child.
“What is your name?” he asked, though the words came out sharply, as if someone were tearing them from his throat.
“Eli,” the boy replied. “Eli Carter.”
The name hit him like a second blow.
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