At the airport, I clung to Bill’s shirt, breathing in the ghost of old detergent and dust. On the plane, Mike squeezed my hand, his thumb tracing circles. “If it isn’t him—”
“Then we come home, and I keep searching.”
He nodded, tears swimming in his eyes.
I closed mine, picturing Bill’s face — 10 years old, cheeks smudged with dirt, eyes alight with mischief.
“I’ve waited too long to turn back now.”
We landed in a city of strangers, spring wind cold and biting. Mike rented a car, fingers drumming the wheel the whole drive.
“We should call the police, you know. Just in case.”
“If I’m wrong, I’ll live with that,” I said. “But if I’m right… I’m not risking losing him again because I waited for someone else to tell me what to do.”
As we neared the address, my stomach twisted. The houses were neat and ordinary; lawns freshly mowed, flags hanging proudly.
Mike parked outside a faded blue door. I stared at it, heart pounding.
“We should call the police.”
“I’ll wait here if you want,” Mike offered, voice trembling.
I shook my head. “No. I want you with me.”
We walked to the door together. I knocked, three short raps. Just like Bill used to do when he forgot his keys.
The door swung open.
A young man, tall, green-eyed, and familiar, stood in the frame. He looked at us, wary.
“Can I help you?”
Up close, the resemblance was so strong I felt dizzy. I wanted to hug him, but my hands stayed clenched around Bill’s shirt.
“No. I want you with me.”
“I… I saw your drawing. The woman in your dreams.”
He blinked, uncertain. “You look just like her.”
I nodded, fighting tears. “That’s because I think I’m your —”
Before I could finish, footsteps echoed behind him.
A woman’s voice called out. “Jamie, is someone at the door, sweetheart?”
She appeared beside him, hair pulled back, cheeks flushed. I knew her instantly.
“You look just like her.”
Layla, my sister.
The world tilted. I gripped the doorframe.
“Megan?” Layla gasped, shock splitting her face. “What are you doing here?”
“Is this… is this Bill? Is this my son?”
Jamie, my Bill, looked between us, confusion blooming. “What’s going on? You said that my mom…”
Layla went pale and stepped back. “Come inside,” she whispered.
Mike squeezed my arm as we stepped into a living room full of sunlight and sketchbooks. Jamie stood back, eyes wide.
“What are you doing here?”
“You left,” I said. “You never told me you took my son.”
I held out Bill’s dinosaur shirt. “He wore this every night. He called it his lucky shirt.”
Jamie stared at the shirt, then at me. “Why do I remember that? I used to dream about dinosaurs. I thought it was just… a story.”
My voice cracked. “No, honey. That was your life. With me.”
Jamie looked to Layla, hope and dread warring in his eyes. “You said my mom died. You said you found me at the hospital waiting for you.”
Layla shook her head, crying harder. “I picked you up from school, Jamie. I told them I was your aunt — your emergency contact. I had all the information from helping Megan… no one questioned it. And after that, I stayed close. I helped with the search. I stood right next to her while she begged for you back.”
“Why do I remember that?”
“I lied,” Layla whispered. “And then I kept lying.”
Mike’s fists clenched. “You let us grieve him for 15 years.”
Layla looked down. “I knew this day would come.”
I turned to Jamie, desperate.
“You loved chocolate chip pancakes. You used to call me Meg-mom when you were mad. You have a birthmark behind your left ear, which looks like a bird. You hated thunder.”
Jamie pressed his palms to his face. “I dreamed all those things. I thought they weren’t real.”
“She told me those dreams were just my brain coping,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “That my ‘real’ mom was gone, and I was remembering things wrong.”
He looked at me again, uncertain. “This… this doesn’t just change overnight. I don’t even know what’s real.”
“I knew this day would come.”
He looked at me again, harder this time, like he was trying to see past the face in front of him and into something buried deeper.
“Sometimes I hear a voice in my sleep,” he said shakily. “A woman calling me Billy when I’m scared. I always wake up feeling like I lost something.”
My knees nearly gave out. Nobody had called him Billy except me.
“I thought I was saving him!” Layla suddenly snapped, her voice breaking. “You were falling apart, Megan. Your marriage was cracking, the house was chaos — I thought he’d have a better life with me. I’m sorry.”
I steadied myself, rage and sorrow mixing.
“I’m sorry.”
“You took my son and built a life out of my loss. You let me bury him while he was still alive. You didn’t save him — you stole fifteen years and called it love.”
Jamie shook his head. “You made me think I was alone in the world. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Layla said nothing.