The black Mercedes slowed to a smooth, obedient halt on a cracked side street in Houston—a neighborhood that didn’t exist in the mental map of Edward Bennett. Edward built luxury high-rises and glass towers. He donated to museums. He did not stop in forgotten blocks lined with boarded-up storefronts.

But his son’s voice wasn’t whining.

It was terrified.

“Buddy, what’s wrong?” Edward asked, twisting in his seat.

Peter’s small hand pressed against the window, finger trembling as he pointed to a heap of cardboard and black garbage bags outside a shuttered convenience store.

“They’re there,” he whispered.

Edward followed his gaze.

At first he saw only trash. Then he saw movement.

Two small shapes beneath damp cardboard. Bare feet. Thin arms. When one of them shifted to brush away a fly, Edward’s breath caught in his throat.

The profile.

The same upturned nose as Peter.

The same stubborn dimple in the chin.

The exact features of his late wife, Patricia Bennett.

He was out of the car before he consciously decided to move. His polished shoes scraped against gravel, startling the boys awake. They bolted upright and clung to each other, defensive and silent like cornered animals.

“Please don’t hurt us, sir,” the older one said, stepping protectively in front of the younger. “We were just leaving.”

Edward couldn’t speak.

Up close, it wasn’t resemblance.

It was reflection.

Brown curls dulled by dirt. Pale skin under grime. And when they looked up—

Green eyes.

With flecks of gold.

Patricia’s eyes.

Peter had climbed out of the car without fear. He opened his kindergarten backpack and pulled out a small pack of chocolate cookies.

“Here,” he said simply. “My dad can buy more.”

The boys hesitated. The older one carefully broke a cookie in half, handing the bigger piece to his brother.

“Thank you,” they said together.

Their voices.

Edward felt his knees weaken. He crouched down on the asphalt, expensive suit forgotten.

“What are your names?” he asked.

“I’m Lucas,” the older boy said. “This is Matthew.”

Lucas and Matthew.

The names he and Patricia had once laughed about when imagining a big family. Before the complicated pregnancy. Before the emergency delivery that ended in Patricia’s death. Before the hospital told him only one baby survived.

Peter.

“Where are your parents?” Edward asked quietly, though dread was already coiling in his chest.

The younger boy shook his head. “We don’t have any.”