It was the exact same unique design. Only three existed in the world, and Thomas knew exactly where the other two were.
The third was now hanging around the neck of a homeless child.
Without thinking, he parked crookedly in the street, ignoring the honking and angry stares. He stepped out and walked toward the boy with unsteady steps, as if each one might shatter the fragile possibility unfolding before him.
The boy looked up with wide, frightened eyes — like a cornered animal.
He clutched a dirty plastic bag as if it held his entire world.
He instinctively pulled back when Thomas approached.
“I don’t have anything,” the boy said hoarsely. “I didn’t do anything.”
Thomas knelt in front of him, not caring about his expensive suit or the curious looks from passersby.
“It’s okay… I’m not here to hurt you,” he whispered, carefully pointing to the pendant. “That necklace… where did you get it?”
The boy lowered his gaze and wrapped his fist around the star, protecting it.
“It’s mine. My mom gave it to me.”
Thomas’s heart slammed violently against his ribs.
“Your mom?” he repeated, his voice breaking. “What’s her name?”
The boy hesitated.
“She… she called me Leo. But other people call me Daniel.”
The world tilted.
Sofia had been five when she disappeared.
Now the boy looked about ten.
The numbers fit too perfectly.
“Do you remember anything else about her?” Thomas asked, holding his breath. “Where is she now?”
The boy’s eyes filled with an ancient sadness, far too old for his age.
“She left two winters ago. She was sick. Before she died, she told me never to take off the necklace — that if someday a man recognized it… I should trust him.”
Thomas felt his legs weaken.
“Did she tell you her name before?” he asked.
The boy nodded slowly.
“Sofia.”
There was no doubt.
No logic.
No room for reason.
Thomas broke down right there in the street. He didn’t care who saw. He cried like he hadn’t in five years. He cried on his knees in front of a child who, against all odds, was his daughter — his daughter alive.
“I’m your father,” he sobbed. “My name is Thomas Michels.”
The boy stared at him, searching for a lie, searching for a trap.
“That’s not possible,” he whispered. “My mom said my dad was bad… that he was looking for us to hurt us.”
The confession cut like a blade.
Someone had lied.
Someone had stolen five years of life.
Thomas took a deep breath.