I looked at Sadie.
She closed her eyes for a second.
Then a little boy came around the corner.
He was about three. He was wearing dinosaur pajamas, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. His brown hair stuck straight up on one side, like he’d just woken up from a nap.
And I forgot how to breathe.
There was something about his face.
Something so painfully familiar that it hurt to look at.
His eyes. Big and brown, with long lashes.
The shape of his mouth.
And the way one eyebrow sat just a little higher than the other.
Caleb used to make that exact face. Every time he was confused. Every time I asked him a question he didn’t know the answer to. From the time he was a baby until the last week of his life.
That crooked eyebrow.
The little boy pointed right at me.
“Who’s that?”
Sadie’s voice shook.
“This is Diane, honey.”
The boy smiled at me. A big, gap-toothed, easy smile.
“Hi.”
I couldn’t answer him.
I turned and looked at Sadie.
“No,” I said.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Diane.”
“No.”
“I wanted to tell you.”
My hands started shaking.
“Tell me what?”
She looked down at the little boy.
“Beau, sweetheart, can you go play with Jasper in the kitchen for a minute?”
He hesitated.
“Can I have crackers?”
“Yes.”
“Two?”
Sadie managed a weak smile.
“Two.”
He disappeared toward the kitchen. Jasper’s nails clicked on the floor right behind him.
I waited until I heard a cabinet door open.
Then I turned back to Sadie.
“Tell me,” I said.
Sadie sat down slowly on the edge of the couch.
I stayed standing.
“Beau is Caleb’s son,” she said.
Adrian Hawthorne is a celebrated author and dedicated archivist who finds inspiration in the hidden stories of the past. Educated at Oxford, he now works at the National Archives, where preserving history fuels his evocative writing. Balancing archival precision with creative storytelling, Adrian founded the Hawthorne Institute of Literary Arts to mentor emerging writers and honor the timeless art of narrative.