It opened almost immediately. I smiled reflexively as I looked up. A young man stood in the doorway.
My smile dropped. The pie did, too — it fell from my hands and crashed at my feet, but I barely noticed.
All I could see was that young man’s face, a face I had spent ten years learning to live without seeing.
A young man stood in the doorway.
“Oh, my God! Are you okay?” He moved forward carefully, avoiding the broken shards of the plate.
“Daniel?”
“Ma’am? Did it burn you? Do you have some kind of health problem?”
He was looking right into my eyes. There was no mistaking it. He had slightly curly hair and a sharp chin, just like Daniel. But the main feature that stood out was his odd-colored eyes, one blue and one brown.
Heterochromia. Just like Daniel, who had inherited the condition from his grandmother.
I didn’t know how it was possible, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind: this young man was my son!
The main feature that stood out was his odd-colored eyes.
“Ma’am?” He placed a hand on my shoulder.
I inhaled, and it felt like the first breath I’d taken in a while.
There was only one question that mattered.
“How old are you?” I asked.
He tilted his head. “What? Uh, I’m 19.”
Nineteen. The same age Daniel would’ve been.
There was only one question that mattered.
“Tyler? Is everything okay? I heard a crash…” a woman’s voice called out from somewhere inside the house.
The young man turned. “I’m fine, Mom. But there’s a woman here; she dropped something.”