THE BOY WHO CAME BACK

I knew those eyes better than I knew my own reflection.

I’d watched them look up at me from a crib, watched them fill with tears when he scraped his knee, and watched them shine when he was sixteen and still believed the world might turn out exactly the way he wanted.

Now I was looking at them again.

On a little girl’s face.

“Danny,” I whispered. “Who is she?”

He swallowed.

“This is Lily.”

The girl took a cautious step forward.