The following spring, I hosted another Sunday dinner. Same pot roast, same good dishes. Tyler and Noah both came. Michael sat across from me. At some point I looked around that table and thought back to the first Sunday — how I’d cleaned the house because my son was bringing someone important home, how I’d worried about whether dinner would be good enough. Then a stranger had walked through my door wearing a necklace I hadn’t seen in twenty-one years, and I locked him in my basement because I thought a stranger had stolen something from the brother I’d lost.
I didn’t understand, at the time, that the stranger wasn’t the person I’d lost. He was the one who was about to lead me back to him.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
