He gave me a weird look.
“You said it was my cup,” he said. “You said nobody else could use it ’cause I drool on the straw.”
I had said that. Those exact words.
Headlights washed over the windows.
“Again?” I repeated. “Who took you before?”
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Evan flinched.
“Mommy, please don’t let them take me again,” he whispered.
“Again?” I repeated. “Who took you before?”
He shook his head hard, eyes huge.
The doorbell rang. He nearly jumped out of his skin.
Two officers stood on the porch, a man and a woman.
“Ma’am?” the man asked. “I’m Officer Daley. This is Officer Ruiz. You called about a child?”
“He says he’s my son,” I said. “My son died two years ago.”
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I stepped back so they could see him.
“He says he’s my son,” I said. “My son died two years ago.”
Evan was peeking from behind me, clutching my shirt.
Daley crouched down.
“Hey, buddy,” he said gently. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Evan,” he answered.
Daley’s eyes flicked up to mine.
“Car accident. I saw him in the hospital.”
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“How old are you, Evan?” he asked.
Evan held up six fingers. “I’m six,” he said. “I’m almost seven. Daddy said we could get a big cake when I turned seven.”
Ruiz looked at me.
“Ma’am?” she asked quietly.
“That’s… that’s right,” I said. “He’d be seven now.”
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