Chapter 4 - A Familiar Pull
1366 Words
Eli
A Stranger, A Smile
I hadn’t planned on going to the daycare.
My assistant had arranged a quick donation drop-off for our company’s literacy initiative—some PR fluff and a few photos for the press kit. I figured I’d stop in, smile for the camera, shake a few hands, and get back to the office.
But something kept me there longer than I intended.
The moment I walked into the bright little room filled with blocks, finger paintings, and tiny voices, a quiet tug pulled at me. Not from the chaos of children—but from one small boy sitting alone by the art corner.
Curly golden-brown hair. Big, thoughtful eyes. Skin sun-kissed like mine used to be when I was his age.
He didn’t run up or wave like the others. Just watched. Calm. Curious.
Something about the way he looked at me stopped me cold. I nodded at him. He blinked, then turned shyly toward the coloring books again.
Miss Carla—one of the teachers—walked up beside me. “That’s Lucas,” she said with a smile. “A quiet one, but he’s always observing.”
“Lucas,” I echoed, his name settling strangely in my chest.
He reminded me of someone. I couldn’t quite place it. Maybe a cousin from years ago. Maybe someone from an old photo.
I stood there longer than necessary, just watching him color outside the lines with stubborn focus.
Then I caught something in his expression.
It was brief, barely there—but that frown, that wrinkle between his brows...
I've seen that before.
In the mirror. When I’m trying to solve something I can’t figure out.
I shook the thought loose. Kids mimic adults. Coincidences happen.
Still... something about him stayed with me the rest of the day.
Calla
Unwritten Truths
I sat at the edge of my bed with my journal open and a pen tapping against my lip.
I hadn’t written in weeks. Maybe months.
But tonight, I needed somewhere to put the things I couldn’t say out loud. Not even to Lucas. Not even to myself.
I wrote his name at the top of the page.
Eli.
And then beneath it:
He stood in the same room as his son today.
And he didn’t know.
What if he'd notice the resemblance?
That scared me more than anything.
Because, how long until he recognizes him?
How long can I keep pretending?
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Lucas was asleep down the hall. Safe. Loved.
But maybe he deserved more than love. Maybe he deserved the whole truth.
My phone buzzed beside me.
TESSA:
“Checking in. How are you holding up?”
ME:
“He saw Lucas today. At daycare.”
A pause. Then:
TESSA:
“Did he realize?”
ME:
“No. But… maybe. Not in words. In a feeling.”
TESSA:
“You need to tell him soon.”
I stared at the message. My fingers hovered above the screen.
ME:
“What if he hates me for it?”
Her reply was immediate.
TESSA:
“If he does, he’s not the man you once believed he was. But if he’s the man I remember from that night—the one who looked at you like you were the whole damn sky—he’ll understand.”
I set the phone down, heart hammering. I wasn’t sure who he was anymore.
But the past was circling back.
And the truth?
It was getting harder to silence.
I sat there in silence for a long time after Tessa’s message.
The words she wrote made sense. They always did. She was the one person who’d seen me fall apart and helped piece me back together. But this wasn’t like before. This wasn’t just heartbreak.
This was everything.
This was a child. A life. A choice I made three years ago—out of fear, out of instinct, out of love—and a choice I had to live with every day since.
I looked back down at my journal, the ink still fresh and wet.
What if he hates me for it?
I scratched the words out. Not because they weren’t true—but because they weren’t the full story.
I turned to a fresh page and started again.
What if he doesn’t?
What if he wants to know him?
What if I have to share Lucas with someone who lives in glass towers and knows nothing about bedtime songs or matching socks?
What if Lucas loves him more than me?
That last one hurt the most to write.
I shut the journal.
Then I walked down the hall and peeked into Lucas’s room.
He was sprawled sideways, blanket half on, one foot hanging off the bed. His little lion clutched under his chin. I walked over and gently covered him back up, brushing a curl from his forehead.
“I’m trying,” I whispered. “I’m trying to protect you. I just don’t know if that means keeping him away… or letting him in.”
I stood there for a long time, listening to the soft rhythm of my son’s breathing.
The kind of peace I hadn’t known in years.
But even now, that peace was cracking. The line between past and present was getting thinner by the hour. And Eli Donovan?
He wasn’t fading into memory this time.
He was stepping back into my life.
And this time, he wasn’t leaving.
The Next Morning
Sunlight spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, casting stripes of light across the floor.
Lucas was already awake, humming to himself on the living room rug, surrounded by dinosaurs, Legos, and a half-eaten banana.
He looked up when I entered, his curls wild and his cheeks still puffy from sleep.
“Hi, Mommy.”
“Hi, lovebug,” I said, walking over and crouching beside him. “You’re up early.”
“I had a dream,” he said matter-of-factly, poking a stegosaurus in the side. “We went to the beach and made sand castles, and then a crab stole your hat and I chased it with a shovel.”
I laughed. “A very brave dream.”
He beamed. “I saved your hat.”
“You always do.” I kissed the top of his head, breathing in that sweet, milky smell only little kids had. “You’re my hero.”
He giggled, then tilted his head like he always did when something big settled in his little brain.
“Was that man yesterday a superhero too?”
My heart paused.
I sat down fully beside him. “What man, sweetheart?”
“The tall one with shiny shoes,” he said, as if that answered everything. “The one who smiled at me at school.”
Eli.
My throat tightened. “He was just visiting the school. He works in a tall building. Sometimes grown-ups do that for work.”
Lucas stared at me like he didn’t fully believe it.
“Will he come back?”
I gave him a soft smile. “Probably not, baby.”
A lie. A small one. One, I told myself more than him.
He nodded slowly, eyes going back to his toys—but I could tell the thought stuck somewhere deep.
He was three now. Still full of wonder and sunshine and pretend. But soon, he’d start connecting dots I couldn’t hide forever.
I ran my fingers through his curls. “Want pancakes?”
He perked up immediately. “Dino ones?”
“Of course.”
He grinned, jumping up and racing toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the plates!”
As I stood to follow him, I glanced toward the window. The skyline stretched far in the distance, all sharp lines and reflective glass.
Somewhere out there, Eli Williams was starting his morning, too.
And he didn’t know that the brightest part of his life was standing in my kitchen holding dinosaur-shaped cookie cutters and asking for extra syrup.
For now…
That truth was still mine.
But I felt the clock ticking.
Even in a quiet morning filled with syrup and smiles—
It was getting louder.
- Writer
