James Caldwell had everything a man could want: a big house in the hills outside of San Francisco, money, and renown.
As the founder of a top cybersecurity company in Silicon Valley, he spent more than twenty years turning his concept into an empire. He earned a lot of accolades, but his magnificent abode was oddly quiet. There was nothing that could fill that space, not even a beautiful artwork or a wonderful wine.
Every morning, James drove the same route downtown in his car, which went through the city’s historic district. There were a few homeless youngsters hanging around in front of a bakery there that displayed pictures of weddings from the neighbourhood in its front window.
A picture of James’s wedding from ten years ago was in the upper right corner. James let the bakery owner’s sister, who was a hobby photographer, show it off because it was a picture of what he thought was the best day of his life.
But that happiness didn’t endure long enough. Six months after they got married, Emily, his wife, disappeared. There was no note or request. Not a thing. Authorities said it was “suspicious,” but there wasn’t enough evidence, so the investigation was dropped. James never got married again after that. He worked so hard that he created a digital wall around his life. But every day he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to Emily.
James was on his way to a board meeting on a rainy Thursday morning when traffic slowed down near the bakery. He looked out of his tinted window and saw a child, maybe 10 years old, barefoot and damp, staring up at the image. At first, James didn’t pay any attention to him. But then the youngster pointed at the picture and muttered quietly to a neighbouring merchant:
“That’s my mum.”
James’s heart stopped for a second.
He opened the window halfway. His clothing was too big for him, his hair was dishevelled, and he looked scrawny. James gazed at his face and felt a strange pull in his stomach. The boy’s gaze was unmistakable. Just like Emily’s, it’s hazel green.
James said, “Hey, kid.” “What did you just say?”
The toddler turned around and blinked at him. He pointed to the image again and added, “That’s my mum.” Before I went to sleep, she used to sing to me. I can still hear her talk. And then, one day, she was gone.
James got out of the car nonetheless, even though his driver told him not to. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Luca,” the youngster said in a low voice, and then he shivered.
“Luca…” James knelt down so he could look him in the eye. “Where do you live?”
Luca turned to the side. “Nowhere.” Sometimes under the bridge. “Sometimes near the tracks.”
“Can you think of anything else about your mum?” James asked, keeping his voice calm.
Luca said, “She liked roses.” “And she wore a necklace with a white stone on it.” “Like a pearl.”
James’s heart sank. Emily’s mom had given her a pearl necklace that she always wore. It was one of a kind and really special.
James went on, “I need to ask you something important.” “Do you know who your father is?”
Luca shook his head. “I’ve never met him.”
The proprietor of the bakery came out because of the noise. James gazed at her. “Have you ever seen this boy before?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, he stops by every now and then. Doesn’t want anything. “Just look at that picture.”
James cancelled his meeting soon away. He brought Luca to a local diner and got him something hot to eat. James asked more questions in a quiet voice as they sat. Luca’s memories were all over the place and not comprehensive. A woman singing, a flat with green walls, and a teddy bear named Max. James could hardly believe it, but something inside him told him that the truth was finally coming out.
He arranged for a DNA test. But that night, one question kept him awake:
If Luca is my son, where has Emily been all this time?
Three days later, the findings came.
99.9% match: James Caldwell was Luca Evans’s biological father.
James looked at the folder in horror and disbelief. His youngster was the unclean boy who pointed to a picture in a bakery window. He has a son he didn’t know about.
But how? No one ever knew Emily was pregnant. But she fled six months after they got married. If she knew, she might not have been able to tell him. Or maybe she attempted but something got in the way.
James began a private investigation. It went quickly because of the people he knew. He recruited Allen Briggs again, this time as a retired investigator who had worked on the first missing person case. At first, Briggs didn’t believe it, but he agreed to look into the case again because of the fresh facts.
Briggs said, “We didn’t have anything back then.” “But a kid changes everything.” That gives her a reason to go away if she was protecting a newborn.
New proof came to light in a matter of days.
Emily wasn’t fully gone. She went to a women’s shelter in a nearby town eight years ago and used the name “Marie Evans.” Most of the files were closed, but one featured a photo of a woman with hazel-green eyes holding a baby. What do you call the baby? Luca.
Briggs learnt that her next appointment was at a clinic in Nevada, where she went for prenatal care under a false name. But she ran away in the middle of therapy and was never seen there again.
James’s mind was racing. She had been running. But who?
The name Derrick Blane was the most vital clue, and it was contained in an old police report that had been sealed. Emily’s ex-boyfriend. James didn’t remember much about him, other than that Emily had stated he was possessive and maybe even dangerous. James never met him, and Emily stated she had stopped talking to him years ago. He didn’t realise that Derrick had been out of jail for three months before Emily went missing.
Briggs found out that two weeks before Emily went missing, she asked for a restraining order against Derrick, but it was never finalised. Not safe. No follow-up.
The picture got clearer: Derrick had undoubtedly found Emily. Maybe he frightened her. It might even be worse. She ran away to protect her unborn child. Changed who she was. No longer here.
But how did Luca end up living on the street?
Briggs found one last, horrible twist. Two years ago, it was formally announced that Emily had died. A body had washed ashore on the shore of a nearby bay. It was the same height and wearing clothes like Emily did the day she went missing. The police closed the case. But they never found out for sure who the body belonged to. The dental records never matched. It wasn’t her.
Carla, the woman who used to administer the shelter where Emily stayed, was the second person to provide James a lead. She remembered Emily well now that she was older.
Carla said, “She was scared.” “He said, “Someone was after her.” I helped bring Luca into the world. But one night, she just left. I was always worried that someone would catch up to her.
James was speechless.
Then the big thing happened.
Someone in Portland, Oregon, saw a woman who looked like Emily stealing. When officials looked at her fingerprints, they set up an alarm for a missing person case that had been active for ten years.
That night, James left on a plane.
He peered through the glass pane at a thin, pale woman with sorrowful eyes in the detention centre. She was older and weaker, but it was clearly her.
“Emily.”
She gently turned around. She trembled when she touched the glass. She cried a lot.
“I thought you were gone,” James said softly.
“I had to protect him,” she screamed. “Derrick found me.” I ran away. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
James tried everything he could to get her charges reduced. He drove her home. She got a therapist. And most significantly, he got her back with Luca.
When he saw her, Luca didn’t say anything. He walked over and hugged her tightly.
Emily fell into her son’s arms and cried after 10 years of hiding, being scared, and not knowing what to do.
James had the right to take Luca in. He and Emily slowly started to put things back together. She testified against Derrick, who had been arrested for domestic violence again since then. This time, justice won when her case was looked at again.
James would sometimes stop in front of that bakery and look at the wedding picture that used to make him unhappy. Now it meant something else.
It was a sign of love. Of life. Of fate’s strange, gentle hand returning back to give back what was lost.
