The case would stay open, but after so long, they had to assume our son had died. Karen cried until she couldn’t breathe. I just sat there.
Life continued. Karen and I never had other children. We talked about it, but I think we believed losing another child would destroy us completely.
So instead, I buried myself in work. I owned a small hardware and supply store just outside of town. Keeping it running gave me something to focus on, which made the days move forward.
Fifteen years passed in that way. Then, one afternoon, something strange happened. I’d been sitting in the office flipping through resumes for a janitor position.
The store needed someone dependable. Most of the applications looked the same: short job histories, a few references, nothing memorable. Then I reached one that made me stop.
The name at the top read “Barry.”
I told myself it was just a coincidence. “Barry” was a common name. But when I looked at the photo attached to the application, my hands froze.
The man in it looked uncannily familiar. He was 26, had darker hair than my son, broader shoulders, and a rougher look around the eyes. But something about his face struck me hard.
The shape of his jaw. The curve of his smile.
