Chapter 8 - THE CABIN WHERE MY FATHER LEFT HIS SHOES
The coordinates led to a cabin.
Not abandoned.
Maintained.
Fresh wood stacked outside.
Food in cupboards.
Someone had lived there recently.
Dominic did not bring an army.
Police went first.
Then Elizabeth.
Then me.
I insisted.
The judge approved because the cabin might belong to my father.
Dominic asked:
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
“Want to go anyway?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“That’s courage.”
I remembered that.
Inside, I found shoes by the door.
Men’s boots.
A drawing on the wall.
A butterfly.
Childish.
Mine.
I had drawn it years earlier at St. Jude’s.
How did it get here?
Someone had been watching my artwork online through the orphanage newsletter.
My father?
I rolled deeper inside.
A shelf held every public photograph St. Jude’s ever posted of me.
Birthdays.
Art fairs.
Christmas.
Dominic went very still.
“He knew.”
Elizabeth cried.
Daniel had known where I was.
Then why didn’t he come?
A journal answered.
He found me three years ago.
But Mercer’s network was still active.
Daniel believed appearing would expose me.
So he watched from a distance.
I got angry.
“He could’ve said hello.”
Dominic crouched.
“Yes.”
“He could’ve told me.”
“Yes.”
“He decided for me.”
“Yes.”
No excuses.
Good.
Then we found a more recent entry.
Two weeks ago.
Lily’s adoption day is coming.
My chest tightened.
I cannot keep watching strangers decide whether her wheelchair makes her worthy of love.
I started crying.
Daniel knew.
He had seen families reject me.
The journal continued.
I’m going back.
Then the final entry:
Mercer found me first.
No more pages.
Blood on the next sheet.
Old.
Not much.
Police searched outside.
Tracks led toward a shed.
Inside:
Medical supplies.
Bandages.
A radio.
Someone had treated an injury.
Then a hidden trapdoor.
Beneath it, a tunnel into the woods.
Daniel escaped?
Maybe.
We followed records from a nearby pharmacy.
Cash purchase.
Antibiotics.
Three days after the journal ended.
Man matching Daniel’s age.
Then another purchase.
One week later.
Alive.
I smiled so hard my face hurt.
“Daddy’s alive.”
Dominic crouched.
“Probably.”
I frowned.
“Why do grown-ups ruin good sentences?”
“Because probably is safer than promising.”
Fair.
Then Elizabeth’s phone rang.
A blocked number.
She answered.
Silence.
Then a man said:
“Blue butterflies come home.”
Elizabeth collapsed into a chair.
“Daniel?”
My father’s voice.
“Yes.”
I stopped breathing.
“Dad?”
Silence.
Then:
“Lily?”
My eyes filled.
He began crying.
I had never heard a grown man cry like that.
“I’m sorry.”
I hugged Mr. Bear.
“Where are you?”
Daniel’s voice changed.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Mercer Sr. is still alive.”
Dominic froze.
Julian Mercer Sr. had supposedly died five years earlier.
Of course he had.
May you like
Then Daniel whispered:
“And he’s inside Dominic’s house.”
Related Stories
