Chapter 2 - THE LITTLE BOY WHO SHOULD NEVER HAVE EXISTED
“Mommy!”
The little boy wrapped both arms around Anna’s legs.
Vincent Moretti stood motionless in the middle of the crowded Chicago ballroom.
For three years, he had visited a grave bearing his wife’s name. He had placed flowers beside a smaller marker for the child who had supposedly died with her.
Now his wife stood ten feet away.
And a little boy with dark hair and familiar gray eyes was looking up at her.
Anna bent down and smoothed the child’s jacket.
“Ethan, sweetheart, I told you to stay with Mrs. Parker.”
“She went to get my juice.”
“That’s all right. Stay with me.”
Her voice was unmistakable.
Vincent remembered that voice whispering goodnight. He remembered it saying his name through tears on an airplane.
He stepped forward.
“Anna.”
She slowly raised her head.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then her expression changed.
Not with joy.
Not even surprise.
With something Vincent recognized immediately.
Fear.
“Anna,” he repeated. “You're alive.”
Ethan pressed closer to his mother.
“Mommy, who's that man?”
Anna gently moved the boy behind her.
“Someone I used to know.”
Those six words hurt Vincent more than he expected.
“Used to know?” He stared at her. “I'm your husband.”
“Not here, Vincent.”
“Three years,” he whispered. “I thought you were dead for three years.”
Anna looked toward the ballroom entrance.
“I need to take my son home.”
Vincent's gaze dropped to the little boy.
“Your son?”
“Yes.”
“How old is he?”
Anna's fingers tightened around Ethan's shoulder.
“Three.”
Vincent struggled to breathe.
His unborn child would have been three.
He lowered himself slightly, trying to see the boy's face.
“What's your name, buddy?”
Ethan answered from behind Anna's dress.
“Ethan.”
“That's a nice name.”
Ethan considered him.
“You look sad.”
Vincent swallowed.
“I guess I am.”
Before he could ask another question, Sophia Carter appeared beside him.
“Vincent? What's happening?”
Then she saw Anna.
The champagne glass slipped from Sophia's hand.
It shattered against the marble floor.
“Anna?”
Anna's face hardened.
“Hello, Sophia.”
Sophia looked as though she had seen something far more frightening than a ghost.
Vincent noticed.
“You knew?” he demanded.
Sophia shook her head.
“No. Vincent, I swear—”
But Anna interrupted.
“Don't swear anything in front of my son.”
Nearby guests had begun watching. Several recognized Vincent Moretti, the powerful businessman whose wife had died in a highly publicized aviation disaster.
Phones appeared.
Anna reached for Ethan's hand.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
Vincent stepped into her path.
“Please. Five minutes.”
“You had five minutes once.”
He went completely still.
Anna looked directly into his eyes.
“You promised you would come back.”
His voice broke.
“I tried.”
“And I waited.”
“I saw the explosion.”
“So did I.”
Vincent stared.
“What?”
Anna glanced at Ethan.
“This isn't the place.”
She moved past him.
Vincent wanted to follow, but something stopped him.
Ethan had dropped a small toy airplane.
Vincent picked it up.
The blue plastic jet had one broken wing, repaired with silver tape.
“Ethan,” he called gently.
The boy turned.
Vincent held out the toy.
“You forgot this.”
Ethan hurried back, accepted it, and smiled.
“Mommy fixed it. It was broken.”
Vincent looked at Anna.
For the first time, her expression softened, though only for her child.
“Come on, baby.”
They disappeared through the ballroom doors.
Sophia gripped Vincent's sleeve.
“You shouldn't chase her.”
He turned sharply.
“What did you just say?”
“She clearly doesn't want to speak to you.”
“My wife is alive.”
Sophia lowered her voice.
“Vincent, people are recording.”
He pulled away.
“For three years, I believed I watched my family die. Why are you worried about recordings?”
Sophia looked down.
He studied her face.
Something was wrong.
She wasn't simply shocked.
She was calculating.
“Tell me something,” he said quietly. “When you saw Anna, why did you look frightened?”
Sophia opened her mouth.
No answer came.
Vincent walked away.
Outside, Anna was fastening Ethan into a waiting black sedan.
“Anna!”
She closed the car door.
Vincent approached slowly.
“Just tell me one thing. Is Ethan mine?”
Anna rested her hand against the roof of the car.
“Why?”
“Because I need to know.”
“Need?” She gave a humorless laugh. “You don't get to decide what you need from us.”
“I never stopped loving you.”
Her eyes filled.
“Love wasn't what I needed on that airplane.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
“No, Vincent. You don't.”
She reached into her purse and removed a thin silver bracelet.
Vincent recognized it immediately.
He had given it to her on their first wedding anniversary.
A tiny engraved airplane charm hung from the chain.
She placed it in his palm.
“I was wearing this when you left me.”
His fingers closed around it.
“Anna…”
“A rescue worker found me nearly two miles from the wreckage. I was unconscious. By the time I could speak clearly, everyone had already decided I was dead.”
Vincent looked up sharply.
“How did you get out?”
“A flight attendant helped me through the rear emergency hatch.”
“But the aircraft exploded.”
“After we got out.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
Anna's expression changed again.
“That,” she said, “is what I've spent three years trying to understand.”
Vincent felt the first movement of something colder than grief.
Suspicion.
“Who was the flight attendant?”
“Her name was Rebecca Hayes. She saved my life.”
“Where is she?”
Anna hesitated.
“She died six months after the crash.”
“An accident?”
“That's what the report says.”
Vincent remembered the investigation.
A technical malfunction. An unexpected fuel-system failure. A catastrophe officially described as unavoidable.
He had accepted every word because accepting it was easier than remembering Anna's final expression.
“Anna, let me help.”
“You had your chance.”
She opened the driver's door.
Vincent looked toward Ethan, who was quietly making his toy airplane fly above his knees.
“Does he know about me?”
“He knows his father made a terrible mistake.”
Vincent's throat tightened.
“And that his father is sorry?”
Anna held his gaze.
“Sorry doesn't tell a child whether you'll stay.”
She slid into the car.
Before closing the door, she added, “If you really want to understand what happened, ask Sophia why she changed seats twelve minutes before the emergency.”
Vincent stared.
“What?”
Anna closed the door.
The sedan pulled away.
He remained on the sidewalk, holding the bracelet.
Then he noticed something scratched into the back of the airplane charm.
Tiny numbers.
A date.
And three letters.
S.C. — 14B.
Seat 14B.
Sophia's original seat.
Vincent remembered that Anna had been sitting there when the alarms began.
He turned toward the ballroom.
May you like
Sophia was standing just inside the glass doors, watching him.
And when she saw the bracelet in his hand, she immediately turned and walked away.
Related Stories
