Someone had known about Theo.
Someone had watched me move from state to state.
Someone had manipulated Ethan into stopping the search.
Outside, Theo laughed again.
The sound pulled me back.
“He cannot know all of this,” I said.
“He deserves to know who I am.”
“He is five.”
“I know.”
“You walked into his diner twenty minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“You cannot enter his life as a billionaire with security teams and magazine covers.”
“I did not ask to.”
“Then what are you asking?”
Ethan looked toward the door.
“One conversation.”
“With him?”
“With you.”
“We are having one.”
“No. We are exchanging damage.”
The accuracy of that stopped me.
He lowered his voice.
“I need to know whether he is safe.”
“He is.”
“Who watches him?”
“Rosie, when I work. Her husband picks him up from school.”
“Does anyone know your real name?”
“No.”
“Does anyone know his father’s name?”
“No.”
“Has anyone contacted you?”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
I hesitated.
Ethan noticed.
“Emily.”
“Three months ago, I received a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“Theo at school.”
His face hardened.
“From whom?”
“Unknown number.”
“What did it say?”
“Nothing.”
“And you did not report it?”
“I went to the police. They said there was no threat.”
“Did you keep it?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
I took out my phone.
The photograph sat in a hidden folder.
Theo stood near the playground fence wearing his red winter hat, one mitten hanging from his pocket.
Ethan stared at it.
“Who took this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he alone?”
“His class was nearby.”
“Did anything else happen?”
“A car began parking across from the diner.”
“What kind?”
“Black sedan. No front plate.”
“How often?”
“Four times.”
“Recently?”
“Last week.”
Ethan’s expression became unreadable.
He took out his phone.
I covered his hand.
“No.”
His eyes lifted.
“You will not summon ten men and turn this town upside down.”
“My son may be watched.”
“Our son.”
The correction came before I could stop it.
Something changed in his face.
Our son.
The words seemed to hurt and heal him at once.
“Our son,” he repeated.
“Yes.”