Chapter 7 - The Search for the Lost Boy
The next morning, I stood in our kitchen, staring out at the manicured garden. Evelyn walked in, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She looked at my pale face and the dark circles under my eyes.
"Daniel, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, wrapping her arms around my waist.
I turned to her, taking a deep breath. It was time to stop living a lie. "Evelyn, we need to talk. There is something about my past I’ve kept hidden from you. From everyone."
Over the next hour, I poured my heart out. I told her about Amara, about my bitter resentment, and about Ethan. I told her the shameful truth of how I had kicked a twelve-year-old boy out into the cold, and the devastating revelation I had received the night before.
Evelyn sat in silence, her eyes wide with shock. For a moment, I feared she would pack her bags and leave me. But as I finished, she didn't look at me with disgust. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she reached out to hold my shaking hands.
"Oh, Daniel," she whispered. "What a terrible, heavy burden you've been carrying... and what a terrible thing you did. But you can't run away from this now. You have to find him."
"I'm going to London," I said. "Maya gave me the address of the gallery where he's preparing his next show. I don't know if he'll even look at me, but I have to go."
"Go," Evelyn said, squeezing my hands. "And don't come back until you've done everything you can to show him he is wanted."
Twenty-four hours later, I was on a flight across the Atlantic. The hours dragged by like centuries. In my briefcase, I carried Amara's diary and the official, certified copy of the DNA test that Maya had retrieved for me from the hospital archives. I stared at the documents, my heart filled with a mixture of terror and hope.
When the plane landed in London, the city was shrouded in a soft, gray fog. I took a cab straight to the Soho district, pulling up outside a quaint, brick-fronted art studio.
May you like
My hands shook as I paid the driver. I stood on the pavement, looking at the sign above the door: The Canvas Room.
I pushed the door open, a brass bell chiming softly above me.
