We sat on the hard plastic chairs near the dryers. Eli placed the lilies beside him like they were fragile.
“Do you remember getting lost at the county fair when you were little?” he asked.
A chill crawled up my spine.
I nodded slowly. “I thought I imagined that.”
“You didn’t,” he said. “You ran up to me crying. I was just walking by the rides.”
“I blinked. “A cop found me.”
“A cop took you from me,” he corrected. “But I found you first.”
He described the glitter butterfly painted on my cheek that day. He was right. And it broke something open inside me.
“I didn’t want to scare you, Abby. I just held your hand and walked you toward the security booth… to the cop. Your mom came running the moment she saw us.”
He swallowed hard. “She didn’t look at me like I was dangerous. She looked at me like a person. She thanked me. Then she asked my name. No one had done that in years.”
My hands shook as Eli continued.
“She came back the following week. Found me at the laundromat. Brought me a sandwich. Didn’t act like I owed her anything. Just gave it to me.”
Tears streamed down my face.
“I watched you grow up,” Eli said softly. “Not like a stalker. Just from a distance. She’d tell me things when she brought dinner. ‘Abby passed her driver’s test.’ ‘She’s off to college.’ ‘She got her first real job.’”
I could barely breathe. “She talked about me? To you?”
He nodded. “Like you were her entire world.”
His words hit like waves. Then something heavier landed.
“I got help,” he said, looking down at his hands. “Years ago. Your mom connected me with counseling, job training. I learned a trade. Started working and saving money.”
He looked up, his careful eyes now holding hope.
“I promised her that if I ever made it, I’d wear a suit to prove it. To show her I was okay.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope, worn at the edges.
“Your mom told me to give you this if I ever saw you again.”
