Chapter 2 — The Name He Never Gave Me

“The man I knew was Caleb Reed.”

Ethan didn’t move.

For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was Lily’s breathing.

Then he stood.

I drew her closer before I could stop myself.

He saw it and stayed behind his desk.

“Reed was our mother’s maiden name.”

My stomach turned.

“No.”

It wasn’t an argument. It was the only word I could find.

“He used it after he left home,” Ethan said.

I looked at the gray eyes, the dark hair, the mouth that seemed built to withhold more than it said.

Caleb’s eyes had been warmer. His smile quicker.

But there was something in the shape of Ethan’s face that I suddenly couldn’t stop seeing.

“I need my phone charged.”

He opened a drawer and took out a charging cable.

“Will this work?”

I nodded.

He set it within reach rather than coming around the desk.

That small consideration steadied me.

While the phone charged, Grace brought Lily’s coat, her lunch bag, and the rabbit with one floppy ear.

Lily woke when I tucked it beneath her arm.

“I found you,” she murmured.

“I know, sweetheart.”

She looked across the desk.

“That man found me.”

“Yes. He helped.”

Ethan lowered himself into his chair.

“You told me your rabbit was missing a shoe.”

“He doesn’t wear shoes,” Lily said solemnly. “His foot is broken.”

“I see. My mistake.”

She examined him, decided he understood, and rested against me again.

My phone finally lit up.

I opened the folder I almost never touched.

There were nineteen photographs.

I knew because I had counted them on nights when I couldn’t sleep.

Caleb standing outside our old apartment with two grocery bags. Caleb laughing because I had put too much flour into pancake batter. Caleb beside Lake Michigan, his arm around me and the wind lifting his hair.

I chose the clearest one.

“Tell me whether this is him.”

Ethan took the phone.

His thumb stopped against its edge.

I didn’t need his answer.

“Yes.”

The word barely carried.

I watched his face as he enlarged the photograph.

“Where was this taken?”

“Montrose Beach.”

“When?”

I opened the information beneath the image.

He read the date.

“That was six months after I last saw him.”

“You didn’t know he was in Chicago?”

“No.”

“He lived here. He worked here.”

“Doing what?”

“Renovation jobs. Some warehouse shifts. Whatever he could get.”

Ethan closed his eyes briefly.

I felt anger rise through my shock.

“You own all this, and your brother was working nights unloading trucks?”

His eyes opened.

“My brother refused my money.”

“Did he refuse you, too?”

The question landed.

He set my phone down carefully.

“We had an argument. A bad one.”

“About what?”

“Work. Family. Things I believed I understood.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

I appreciated the honesty less than I wanted to.

Lily slid off my lap. I helped her down, keeping one hand on her shoulder until she was steady.

Grace had left crackers and a small carton of milk on the coffee table.

“Can I sit there?” Lily asked.

“Yes. Right where I can see you.”

Ethan watched her cross the rug, then looked back at me.

“How did you meet him?”

“At a laundromat. He helped me carry a basket after the handle broke.”

A ridiculous beginning for a story that now seemed capable of swallowing my life.

“He kept coming back on Saturdays,” I said. “Eventually I asked whether he owned any clothes, because I’d never actually seen him put anything in a machine.”

A faint smile touched Ethan’s mouth.

“He would have liked that.”

“He did.”

I looked away before the memory could do more damage.

“We were together nine months. I found out I was pregnant in May. He disappeared eleven days later.”

“Did he know?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He cried.”

Ethan’s face changed.

“He was happy,” I said, needing that fact understood. “He brought home this awful little yellow sweater. It had a duck on it. He said babies were supposed to wear things with ducks.”

His gaze dropped to the photograph again.

“I reported him missing,” I continued. “They asked whether we’d fought. Whether he had another girlfriend. Whether he’d taken clothes.”

“Had he?”

“A bag. He said he had something to settle before the baby came.”

“What happened to the report?”

“I kept calling. Nothing came of it. I gave them the name I knew.”

Caleb Reed.

The wrong name.

For nearly four years, I had been searching with the wrong name.

Ethan reached for his phone, then stopped.

“What?”

“I can have someone retrieve the report.”

“I want a copy too.”

“Of course.”

“And no one interviews me or contacts people in my life without telling me first.”

He put the phone down.

“Agreed.”

I took a breath.

“Your last name is on the building. Mine is on a six-month employment contract. I need you to understand what this looks like from where I’m sitting.”

“I do.”

“I’m not sure you can.”

He accepted that without defending himself.

“What would make you comfortable proceeding?”

The question surprised me.

“Proof,” I said. “The photograph proves you knew him. It doesn’t prove anything about Lily.”

He glanced toward her.

She was feeding a cracker to the rabbit.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

We discussed a family relationship test through an independent laboratory. I would speak to the staff myself. I would receive the results directly.

No one would tell Lily she had an uncle until we knew.

Ethan agreed to every condition.

Then he called Grace and asked her to bring information about emergency childcare benefits.

I almost laughed.

“Those are for senior employees.”

His expression went still.

“Who told you that?”

“My supervisor.”

“Grace will check the policy.”

Twenty minutes later, she returned with a printed page.

The benefit applied to all permanent employees.

Including junior analysts.

My throat tightened as I read it.

There was a number I could call. A limited number of subsidized emergency care days. Something that would have changed this entire morning if I had known.

“I’ll arrange it,” I said.

Grace nodded and left me the page.

Ethan didn’t make a speech about fixing my life.

He simply waited while I made the call.

By noon, a licensed caregiver could meet us at my apartment. I confirmed her details myself and wrote down the service’s contact number.

For the first time that morning, I could breathe without thinking about rent.

Before leaving, I gathered Lily’s things and folded Ethan’s jacket.

He took it, his fingers brushing mine.

Neither of us moved for a second.

Then I remembered what I still hadn’t shown him.

“There’s something else.”

I opened Caleb’s last message.

I had read it so often I no longer needed the screen.

Ethan did.

He leaned forward as I turned the phone toward him.

I’ll be home tomorrow. There’s something about my brother I need to tell you first. Please wait until I can explain.

Beneath it was my reply.

Whatever it is, we’ll work it out. Just come home.

Ethan read both messages.

Then he looked at the date.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

But his hand had tightened around the edge of his desk.