“What name?”
“Eli.”
Dawson closed his eyes.
His son had been named Elliot.
Megan used to call him Eli while she was pregnant.
She said it sounded like the name of a little boy who would climb trees and come home with grass stains on his knees.
I remembered Dawson laughing and saying he’d need to buy extra laundry detergent.
Now that nickname had appeared on a backpack carried by a child who should have been dead.
Mom looked between us.
“Claire, there’s something else.”
I felt cold.
“What?”
“The woman with him was crying.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But I heard her say, ‘I can’t keep doing this.'”
Dawson looked up.
“And the boy?”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“He asked when he could go home.”
By noon, we had located the woman.
Her name was Teresa Moore.
She was fifty-three and worked as a private childcare provider.
I didn’t track her down through hospital records.
She found us.
Another anonymous message appeared on my phone.
I SENT THE PHOTOGRAPH. PLEASE MEET ME BEFORE THEY MOVE HIM.
Beneath it was the address of a small coffee shop.
Dawson and I went together.
Teresa was waiting in a corner booth.
She wore a gray coat and held a paper cup between trembling hands.
When she saw Dawson, she began crying.
“I’m sorry.”
He sat opposite her.
“Do you know who I am?”
She nodded.
“You’re Elliot’s father.”
Dawson covered his mouth.
For several seconds, he couldn’t speak.
Then he whispered, “Is he alive?”
Teresa reached across the table.
“Yes.”
The word seemed to shatter him.
He bent forward, his shoulders shaking.
I placed an arm around him.
Teresa wiped her eyes.
“I’ve cared for Eli for almost three years.”
I stared at her.
“Where?”
“Mostly in Colorado. Mrs. Mercer rented a house there. Recently, they moved him to Chicago.”
My stomach tightened.
Megan had told Dawson she visited her sister in Denver.
Apparently, she’d been visiting her son.
Her living son.
The child she claimed was dead.
Teresa continued.
“I thought Mr. Bennett was the boy’s father.”
I looked up.
“Ryan?”
She nodded.
“He visited often. Eli calls him Daddy.”
Dawson made a terrible sound.
Teresa’s eyes filled.
“But I found paperwork last month. Old hospital documents. Another father’s name.”
She looked directly at Dawson.
“Yours.”
Teresa handed us a copy of a birth record.
It listed the child as Elliot James Mercer.
Mother: Megan Mercer.
Father: Dawson Mercer.
The document did not establish what had happened afterward, but it confirmed that Megan had given birth to a live child.
Dawson touched the name.
His fingers trembled.
“Elliot James.”
I remembered how proud he’d been when they chose it.
James was his late father’s name.
He stared at the paper for so long that Teresa finally looked away.
Then I asked, “Why did you send me the photograph instead of contacting Dawson?”
Teresa swallowed.
“Because I found your name on some mortgage papers in Ryan’s study. I searched for you and discovered that you’re his wife.”
Her voice shook.
“I realized there were families who didn’t know what was happening.”
“Why now?”
She looked frightened.
“Because they’re planning to move Elliot again.”
Dawson sat straighter.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
She opened her handbag.
Inside was a small toy dinosaur.
Blue plastic.
One leg broken.
Teresa placed it on the table.
“He left this in my car yesterday.”
I stared at it.
My mother had seen him drop a blue dinosaur at the hospital.
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