One July morning, a young mother took her 2-year-old son on a routine morning hike through the Rocky Mountains, but neither of them ever made it back home.

Rangers insisted they must have fallen, gotten lost, met with an accident.

Yet, no bodies were ever recovered.

No clues ever found.

Then, 6 years later, park researchers studying thermal activity inside a hotring on the mountain stumbled upon evidence so horrifying it still haunts everyone who worked the case.

Mark Brennan sat at his home office desk, struggling to focus on the quarterly reports spread before him.

The numbers blurred together, refusing to make sense no matter how many times he reviewed them.

6 years.

Nearly 6 years had passed since Sarah and Ethan had vanished on what should have been a simple dayhike in the Rockies.

His phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through his thoughts.

The number wasn’t familiar.

a Colorado area code.

His stomach tightened as he answered, “Mr.Brennan, this is Detective Patricia Chen with the Park County Sheriff’s Office.

I need to speak with you about your wife and son’s case.

” The coffee mug slipped from Mark’s hand, brown liquid spreading across the financial documents.

After 6 years of dead-end leads and fading hope, no one called about Sarah and Ethan anymore.

What did you find? His voice came out horsearo.

Mr.Brennan, I’d prefer to discuss this in person.

Can you come to Colorado? We’ve made a discovery that requires your immediate attention.

Just tell me, please.

Mark gripped the phone tighter.

Are they? Detective Chen paused.

A research team studying geothermal activity discovered remains in a hotring near the Cascade Trail System.

We found items we believe belong to your wife.

The room spun.

Mark pressed his free hand flat against the desk to steady himself.

Both of them? You found both of them? Sir, I really think it’s best if we discuss the details when you arrive.

Can you fly out today? I’m booking a flight now.

Mark was already pulling up airline websites on his laptop, his hands shaking as he typed.

The hot spring.

Which one? There are dozens in that area.

Morning Glory Poolool about two miles off the main trail.

Mr.Brennan, the research team that found what they found.

They’re environmental scientists from the University of Colorado.

They were taking core samples to study mineral deposits when their equipment registered anomalies at the bottom of the spring.

Mark’s mind raced back to that July morning 6 years ago.

He’d woken with a fever and chills, probably food poisoning from the questionable takeout they’d had the night before.

Sarah had wanted to cancel the hike, but he’d insisted they go without him.

Ethan had been so excited about seeing the bubble water as he called the hot springs.

2 years old, sturdy on his little legs, always wanting to explore the items, Mark managed to ask.

What exactly did they find? fabric remnants consistent with hiking gear, a backpack frame, some leather that appears to be from boots.

Chen’s professional tone couldn’t mask the weight of what she wasn’t saying.

And organic material, we’ll need DNA confirmation, but given the location and the items found.

What about my son? Mark interrupted.

Ethan was only two.

Did you find anything that would indicate? That’s what we need to discuss in person, Mr.

Brennan.

The forensics team is still processing the scene.

The nature of hot springs makes recovery complicated.

The high temperature and mineral content affect preservation in unique ways.

Mark stood abruptly, knocking over his chair.

Through the window, he could see neighbors going about their ordinary Tuesday morning, walking dogs, heading to work, living lives untouched by sudden devastation.

I’ll be on the 2:30 flight to Denver.

Someone can pick me up at the airport.

I’ll meet you personally, Detective Chen assured him.

Mr.Brennan, I know this is incredibly difficult.

We’re going to need you to look at some items for identification purposes.

Are you prepared for that? I’ve been waiting 6 years for answers, Mark said.

I’m prepared for anything.

But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie.

How could anyone prepare to identify the remains of their wife? How could he prepare for confirmation that the vibrant, adventurous woman who’d convinced him to move to Colorado for the hiking had met her end in a boiling pool of mineral-laden water.

After ending the call, Mark moved mechanically through the house, throwing clothes into a bag.

In the hallway, he passed the photo gallery Sarah had insisted on creating dozens of frames showing their adventures.

There was Ethan on Mark’s shoulders at Garden of the Gods.

Sarah laughing as she tried to set up their tent in a windstorm.

The three of them at Morning Glory Pool just the summer before they disappeared.

Ethan pointing excitedly at the prismatic colors while safely held in Sarah’s arms.

Morning Glory Pool.

They had visited it several times, always careful to keep Ethan well back from the edge.

The water temperature averaged 160° F.

Sarah had read him the safety statistics, how quickly the human body succumbed to such heat, how the minerals prevented anything from ever fully decomposing, creating a kind of preserved record of tragedy.

Mark forced himself to look away from the photos and concentrate on what needed to be done.

Call his boss, book the flight, pack identification documents the detective would surely need.

Contact Sarah’s sister in Portland.

No, that could wait until he knew more.

As he drove to the airport 2 hours later, Mark found himself thinking about the research team.

What must it have been like, expecting to find mineral deposits and instead discovering evidence of a six-year-old tragedy? The detective had mentioned anomalies in their equipment, metal from backpack frames and boot grommets, probably.

Maybe the titanium wedding ring he’d saved extra shifts to afford.

The one Sarah never took off.

The flight passed in a blur.

Mark stared out the window as Colorado’s mountains came into view.

The same peaks that had drawn Sarah like a magnet.

She’d grown up in Ohio as flat as land could be.

And the mountains had awakened something in her.

Even after Ethan was born, she’d insisted on maintaining their hiking schedule, modifying routes for the baby carrier, always prepared with supplies and emergency plans.

Now, finally, he would have answers, or at least some of them.

The question that haunted him most, what had happened to Ethan, remained unspoken in Detective Chen’s careful words.

Hot Springs preserved some things, destroyed others.

What evidence of a 2-year-old child could survive 6 years in boiling acidic water? As the plane descended toward Denver, Mark pressed his forehead against the window and tried to prepare himself for whatever waited in those mountains where his family had vanished.

Detective Patricia Chen stood waiting at the Denver airport arrivals area, her appearance matching her professional phone demeanor.

Early 40s, sharp eyes that missed nothing, wearing practical clothing suited for mountain terrain.

She spotted Mark immediately, probably from the exhausted grief etched on his face.

“Mr.Brennan,” she said, extending her hand.

“I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.

My vehicle is outside.

It’s about a 2-hour drive to the site.

” “Mark followed her to an unmarked SUV, grateful she didn’t attempt small talk as they navigated out of the airport.

The mountains loomed ahead.

The same peaks he’d once found majestic now feeling oppressive.

Detective Chen finally spoke as they merged onto Interstate 70.

The research team has been very cooperative.

Dr.Emily Reeves was leading the thermal study when they made the discovery 3 days ago.

They immediately contacted us and haven’t disturbed the site since.

3 days, Mark repeated.

You’ve known for 3 days.

We needed to verify certain details before contacting you.

The hotring environment creates unique challenges for evidence recovery.

We had to bring in specialized equipment and experts who understand geothermal forensics.

Mark stared out at the passing landscape.

Have you found any indication of my son? Chen’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

The recovery is ongoing.

The spring is deeper than originally mapped.

nearly 40 feet at the center.

We’ve recovered several items from various depths, but the process is slow.

The water temperature and mineral content mean we can only send divers down for very short periods.

They drove in silence through the tourist towns of Idaho Springs and Georgetown past the turnoff for Loveland Pass, where Mark and Sarah had gotten engaged 7 years ago.

Every landmark held memories now tainted by knowing how the story ended.

The parking area for the Cascade Trail system was cordoned off with yellow tape, multiple law enforcement vehicles clustered near the trail head.

Chen led Mark past the barriers, other officers nodding grimly as they passed.

The two-mile hike to Morning Glory Poolool had never felt longer.

Mark heard the activity before he saw it.

Voices, equipment humming, the organized chaos of a major investigation.

Then the trail curved and morning glory poolool came into view.

The hot spring looked exactly as it had during their family visits.

A perfect circle of brilliant color yellows and greens radiating from the deep blue center.

But now the peaceful natural wonder was surrounded by investigation equipment.

A specialized diving platform had been constructed over one edge.

Recovery teams and protective gear worked methodically around the perimeter.

Mr.Brennan.

Dr.Emily Reeves approached her University of Colorado jacket mud stained from days of fieldwork.

I’m so sorry.

We were taking core samples of the bacterial mats when our magnetometer detected metal at depth.

Protocol required us to investigate any anomalies that might affect our data.

She led them to a temporary evidence tent set up 30 yards from the spring.

Inside tables held carefully labeled items in various stages of documentation.

Mark’s legs felt weak as he approached the first table.

The backpack frame was unmistakable despite the corrosion.

Sarah had bought that particular model after extensive research, praising its weight distribution and durability.

The purple fabric remnants still clinging to parts of the aluminum told the rest of the story.

We believe the pack’s metal frame is what triggered our instruments.

Dr.Reeves explained quietly.

The depth and position suggest suggest it had been weighted down.

Mark’s mind struggled to process the implication.

Weighted down? You mean this wasn’t an accident? Detective Chen stepped forward.

That’s one of the things we need to determine.

The spring’s natural circulation could have moved items over 6 years, but certain aspects of what we found are concerning.

She guided him to another table.

Sarah’s hiking boots, or what remained of them.

The leather had partially survived the extreme environment enough to see the custom orthotic insoles she’d had made for her high arches, her car keys, the metal fob still bearing the dealership logo.

And then, in a separate evidence bag, her wedding ring.

Mark picked up the bag with trembling hands.

The titanium had survived perfectly, the inscription still readable.

to the summit and back M and S.

He’d had it engraved with their private joke about making it through life’s peaks and valleys together.

The position of items suggests your wife entered the spring fully clothed with all her gear, Chen said carefully.

“That’s highly unusual for an accidental fall.

Most victims who accidentally enter hot springs do so partially.

A foot slips.

They reach for something.

They lean too far while taking photos.

” full immersion with a pack and boots.

Sarah knew these springs, Mark said, his voice hollow.

She was obsessive about safety, especially with Ethan.

She would never have gotten close enough to fall.

That’s what we need to investigate, Chen replied.

There’s something else.

The research team survey shows this spring has an unusual depth profile.

Most hot springs in this area are relatively shallow, but Morning Glory has a narrow chimney that extends down much deeper than the surface pool suggests.

Items could be distributed at various depths.

Mark understood what she wasn’t saying directly.

Different parts of evidence, different remains could be at different levels.

The thought made him nauseous.

What about other hikers that day? He asked.

the trail register, security cameras at the parking area.

We’re reviewing everything from July 15th, 6 years ago, Chen assured him.

The trail register shows your wife signed in at 8:47 a.m.

But Mr.Brennan, this trail system has dozens of interconnecting paths.

Hundreds of people use it daily during summer.

After 6 years tracking down potential witnesses, a shout from the diving platform interrupted her.

One of the recovery specialists was signaling urgently.

Chen excused herself and jogged over, leaving Mark standing among the evidence of his wife’s last moments.

He forced himself to study each item, trying to understand.

Sarah’s GPS watch, its electronic components long dead, but the case intact.

Her water bottles, the insulated steel showing minimal corrosion.

Everything she’d carried for a day hike with their toddler, now laid out like archaeological artifacts.

But where was evidence of Ethan? No tiny boots, no straps from the child carrier Sarah wore, no sippy cup or snacks or any of the dozens of items she always packed for their son.

The absence felt louder than any discovery.

Detective Chen returned, her expression unreadable.

Mr.Brennan, the dive team has located additional items at depth.

We’re going to need to continue recovery operations, but I think we should get you to the hotel.

This is going to be a lengthy process.

Did they find anything related to my son? Chen hesitated.

Not definitively, but Mr.Brennan, the absence of certain evidence is significant.

If both your wife and son had entered the spring, we would expect to find items from both.

The fact that we’re only finding adult-reated items suggest suggests what? That perhaps your son wasn’t with your wife when she entered the water, which opens up entirely different questions about what happened that day.

Mark felt a spark of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in 6 years.

Hope.

If Ethan hadn’t been in the spring, if there was any chance.

We’re reopening this as a potential criminal investigation, Chen continued.

Which means we’ll be interviewing everyone connected to this area.

Park employees, regular hikers, anyone who might have been here that day.

It’s a long shot after so much time, but if your son was separated from your wife before she died, someone might have seen something.

As they walked back toward the trail head, Mark took one last look at Morning Glory Pool.

Its deceptive beauty had hidden his wife’s fate for six years, but it hadn’t claimed his son.

Somewhere in these mountains, there might still be answers about what happened to Ethan.

The question was whether those answers would bring hope or just a different kind of devastation.

The command center had been established in the Cascade Trail parking area by dawn the next morning.

Mark arrived to find dozens of search and rescue personnel gathered around topographical maps spread across folding tables.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the promise of another hot July day ahead.

Detective Chen met him with a cup of coffee and a fluorescent vest marked fam I ly.

We’re organizing grid searches based on possible routes your wife might have taken.

Since we’re now looking at this as a potential crime scene, we’re also checking all structures within a 5m radius.

Structures.

Mark pulled on the vest.

The coffee bitter, but welcome.

Emergency shelters, maintenance sheds, old mining cabins.

This area has dozens of buildings hikers use during storms.

If someone encountered your wife and son that day, they might have directed them to shelter, especially if weather moved in.

Mark remembered Sarah mentioning the shelter cabins during their hikes.

The park service maintained them for emergency use, basic structures with firewood, first aid supplies, and log books where hikers recorded their stays.

Sarah had always noted their locations on her maps, part of her comprehensive safety planning.

A man in a park ranger uniform approached, his weathered face showing the permanent tan of someone who spent decades outdoors.

Detective Chen, I’m Ranger Tom Mitchell.

I’ve pulled the maintenance logs for all shelter cabins in this sector from 6 years ago.

He was perhaps in his early 50s with the kind of solid, reassuring presence Mark associated with experienced outdoorsmen.

His uniform was neat despite the early hour, radio and gear properly positioned on his belt.

This is Mark Brennan.

Chen made the introduction.

the missing woman’s husband.

Mitchell’s expression shifted to one of genuine sympathy.

I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Mr.Brennan.

I’ve been working these trails for 15 years.

Your wife, I remember her from the trail registers.

Always signed in properly, noted her expected return time, the kind of hiker we wish everyone would be.

You remember her? Mark felt a flutter of hope.

Hard to forget someone that consistent.

She hiked here regularly, didn’t she? Sometimes with you, often with the little one in the carrier.

Mitchell pulled out a worn notebook.

I went through my personal logs last night when Detective Chen called about the shelter checks.

I was actually on duty that day, 6 years ago, July 15th.

Chen leaned forward.

You were? That wasn’t in the original investigation files.

Mitchell nodded.

I was doing routine maintenance on the backcountry shelters.

It’s logged in the park records, but I guess no one thought to cross reference my maintenance schedule with the missing person’s case back then.

I was up at Timber Creek Shelter that morning, then worked my way down to Pine Ridge and Avalanche Creek through the afternoon.

Those are all along possible routes from the main trail, Mark said, studying the map.

Did you see anything unusual? Any hikers in distress? That’s what I’ve been trying to remember.

July 15th, we had weather move in unexpectedly that afternoon.

Nothing severe, but enough rain to send unprepared hikers looking for cover.

I made sure all three shelters were stocked and secure.

Mark’s pulse quickened.

Sarah hadn’t been unprepared, but with a 2-year-old, she might have sought shelter from even moderate rain.

Were the log books checked after my family disappeared? Mitchell and Chen exchanged glances.

That’s actually unclear from the original case files, Chen admitted.

The initial search focused on the main trails and the assumption of an accident.

The shelter cabins were checked for occupancy, but I don’t see records of the log books being examined.

I have them, Mitchell said quietly.

All the old log books.

Park Service wanted to throw them out during renovation two years ago, but I kept them.

Thought they were historical records worth preserving.

They’re in storage at the ranger station.

Chen immediately assigned an officer to retrieve the log books while organizing search teams.

Mark found himself assigned to Mitchell’s group heading for the shelter cabins to conduct thorough searches with fresh eyes.

As they hiked toward Timber Creek Shelter, Mitchell maintained a steady pace despite the elevation, pointing out trail features with the ease of long familiarity.

“Your wife knew these trails well.

She’d have known exactly where each shelter was located.

” “She had them all marked on her maps,” Mark confirmed, breathing harder than he’d like.

6 years of grief had taken its toll on his fitness.

said it was important to always have a backup plan with a toddler.

The Timber Creek shelter appeared through the trees.

A simple wooden structure with a metal roof maybe 12 by 16 ft.

Mitchell produced a key and opened the heavy door revealing a sparse interior, wooden bunks, a small wood stove, emergency supplies, and metal containers.

Will dust for prints check for any trace evidence? one of the CSI team members said, beginning to photograph the interior.

Though after six years, Mark stood in the doorway, imagining Sarah here with Ethan, waiting out a rainstorm, probably turning it into an adventure for their son.

Ethan would have loved the novelty of it, the camping house, as he called any small structure.

The thing about these shelters, Mitchell said beside him, is that they’re supposed to be left unlocked for emergencies, but sometimes hikers accidentally lock them when leaving or the mechanism jams.

I specifically remember checking all the locks that day because of the weather coming in.

They moved on to Pine Ridge Shelter, a similar structure, but with a better view of the valley below.

Again, the CSI team began their careful documentation while Mark tried to put himself in Sarah’s shoes.

Which route would she have taken with a tired toddler if weather threatened? Mr.

Brennan, Mitchell said, consulting his notebook again.

Your wife, did she typically vary her roots or stick to familiar trails? She liked to explore, but was careful with Ethan.

She’d scout new trails alone first, then bring him if they were suitable.

Mark paused, remembering that day she mentioned wanting to show him the Alpine Meadow.

It’s past morning glory poolool on the upper loop.

Mitchell’s expression grew thoughtful.

The upper loop that would put her near Pine Ridge or Avalanche Creek shelters if weather moved in.

Not Timber Creek.

That’s the opposite direction.

As they hiked toward Avalanche Creek Shelter, the last and most remote of the three, Mark noticed Mitchell occasionally pausing to examine the trail.

Even after 6 years, the man clearly knew every root and rock, every variation season by season.

Must be strange, Mark said.

Having such a tragedy happen in a place you know so well.

Mitchell was quiet for a moment.

Every ranger deals with it eventually.

Lost hikers, accidents, sometimes worse.

But a mother and child just vanishing that haunts you.

I think about it every time I pass Morning Glory Poolool.

Such a beautiful place to hide something so terrible.

The Avalanche Creek shelter sat in a small clearing, more isolated than the others.

As Mitchell unlocked the door, Mark noticed this one had a newer lock mechanism.

“Had to replace this one four years ago,” Mitchell explained.

“The old one kept jamming inside.

” The CSI team began their work, but something felt different about this shelter.

Maybe it was the location, the way the forest pressed close, or how the sound of the creek masked other noises.

“Mark could imagine someone feeling very alone here, very vulnerable.

” “If my wife came here with Ethan,” Mark said slowly.

“And someone else was already here or arrived after.

” “These shelters sleep six to eight people,” Mitchell said.

It’s not uncommon for strangers to share during storms.

Most hikers are good people.

But he didn’t finish the thought.

As the search team spread out from the shelter, checking the surrounding forest, Mark stood by the creek that gave the shelter its name.

The water rushed by, cold from snowmelt, indifferent to human tragedy.

Somewhere in these mountains, his son had been separated from his wife.

Someone had seen something, done something.

known something.

The question was whether six years had buried those secrets as deeply as the hotring had hidden Sarah’s fate.

The search teams had been working for 3 hours when Detective Chen’s radio crackled with urgent news.

Mark was helping document the area around Avalanche Creek Shelter when he heard Chen’s sharp intake of breath.

“They found something at the ranger station,” she told the group.

“We need to head back immediately.

The hike back felt endless.

Chen setting a punishing pace that left Mark struggling to keep up.

Mitchell stayed with him, occasionally offering a steadying hand on the rougher sections of trail.

“What do you think they found?” Mark asked between labored breaths.

“Could be anything?” Mitchell replied, though his expression had grown serious.

“The station has employee areas that haven’t been thoroughly searched before.

if someone on staff was involved.

They emerged from the trail to find the Ranger Station parking lot transformed into a crime scene.

Additional police vehicles had arrived and officers were establishing a perimeter around the building.

Through the windows, Mark could see investigators moving through the interior.

Detective Chen met them at the entrance.

We got a warrant to search employee lockers and common areas.

started with current staff, then moved to the older unassigned lockers from former employees.

She led them inside past the public area with its trail maps and educational displays into the employee section Mark had never seen.

A row of metal lockers lined one wall, several standing open with evidence markers placed nearby.

Locker 47 hadn’t been assigned in 4 years, Chen explained, stopping in front of a green metal door standing a jar.

The current station manager said it belonged to Jake Morrison, a seasonal worker who left abruptly in 2019 when we cut the lock.

Mark looked inside and felt his legs weaken.

Evidence bags on a nearby table contained a delicate silver necklace with a small compass charm.

Sarah’s anniversary gift from him, which she wore on every hike.

Next to it, another wedding ring.

This one, the white gold band with small diamonds she wore when not hiking.

Usually kept in her pack as backup.

These are Sarah’s, he said, his voice barely audible.

The necklace.

I gave it to her for our fifth anniversary.

She said a compass would always help her find her way home.

Chen nodded grimly.

The items were hidden behind a false panel in the back of the locker.

Someone went to significant effort to conceal them.

Jake Morrison, Mark repeated the name.

Who is he? Mitchell had moved closer to examine the evidence without touching it.

I remember Jake.

Young guy, maybe mid-20s when he worked here.

Quiet, kept to himself.

Good with trail maintenance, but not great with people.

What did he look like? Mark demanded, trying to picture the man who might have killed his wife.

Brown hair, average height, bit of a loner, Mitchell recalled.

He lived in employee housing for two seasons, then left without much notice.

Said he got a job offer in Utah, but none of us heard from him again.

Chen was already pulling up records on her tablet.

Jake Andrew Morrison, do April 3rd, 1994.

worked here summers 2018 and 2019.

No criminal record, but she paused, scrolling through data.

He’s been off-rid since leaving here.

No current address, no employment records, no credit activity.

He’s hiding, Mark said, staring at his wife’s jewelry.

He killed her and he’s been hiding for 6 years.

We’re putting out a B alert now, Chen assured him.

Every agency in the country will be looking for him.

Mr.Brennan, I need you to confirm these items.

You’re certain they belong to your wife? Mark reached for the compass necklace, then stopped, remembering not to contaminate evidence.

The compass has an engraving on the back, our initials, and the date.

He swallowed hard.

Sarah never hiked without it, said it was her good luck charm.

Chen carefully turned the evidence bag to reveal the inscription.

There it was, exactly as Mark remembered.

M&S, always find your way home.

2015.

If Jake Morrison took these as trophies, Chen didn’t finish the sentence.

Everyone understood the implication.

But why leave them here? Mark asked.

Why not take them when he fled? Mitchell spoke up thoughtfully.

The lockers are rarely checked.

Management only clears them out every few years when they need space.

He probably thought they’d be safe here indefinitely.

Maybe planned to come back for them someday.

As crime scene technicians processed the locker and surrounding area, Mark found himself studying the employee breakroom visible through a doorway.

such an ordinary space, coffee maker, refrigerator covered in safety notices, a table with mismatched chairs.

Had Jake Morrison sat there planning his crime? Had he returned from killing Sarah and calmly eaten lunch with colleagues? Mr.

Mitchell, Chen addressed the ranger.

Well need a full statement about everything you remember about Morrison.

Any interactions with the family, any concerning behavior? Of course, Mitchell agreed readily.

Though, I’ll be honest, he was so quiet it’s hard to remember much.

Showed up, did his work, went home.

The kind of employee you barely notice.

Something about that bothered Mark, though he couldn’t quite place why.

A park employee who worked these trails, who knew all the hidden spots and shelters, who could move through the wilderness without drawing attention.

It was the perfect profile for someone who could make a mother and child disappear.

We need to search employee housing, Mark said suddenly.

Even if it’s been years, there might be some trace.

Already on it, Chen assured him.

We’ve got teams heading to the old seasonal quarters now.

If Morrison left anything behind, we’ll find it.

Mitchell excused himself to return to his maintenance duties, promising to compile a full list of anything he could remember about Morrison.

As he left, Mark noticed the ranger’s slight limp, probably from years of hiking these rough trails.

The man had been nothing but helpful, even staying late into his shift to assist with the search.

Outside, Mark stood in the parking lot trying to process this development.

They had a name, a face to put to his nightmare.

Jake Morrison, young, quiet, forgettable Jake Morrison, had somehow encountered Sarah and Ethan on the trail.

He’d done something to separate them, killed Sarah, hidden her body in the hot spring, and kept her jewelry as trophies.

But where was Ethan? If Morrison took my son, Mark said to Chen, who had followed him outside.

Where would he go? How do you hide a 2-year-old for 6 years? That’s what we’re going to find out, Chen replied firmly.

The fact that he kept trophies suggests a certain psychology.

He wanted reminders.

if he took Ethan.

She didn’t finish, but Mark understood.

If Morrison had kept Sarah’s jewelry, there was a chance, however slim, that he’d kept Ethan, too.

Somewhere, Jake Morrison might be raising Mark’s son as his own.

The compass necklace flashed in Mark’s mind.

Sarah’s good luck charm meant to always guide her home.

Instead, it had been locked away in darkness for years, a killer’s trophy.

But now it might be the key to finding their son.

I want to see everything about Morrison, Mark said.

Employment records, background check, any photos you can find.

If this man has my son, I need to know everything about him.

Chen nodded.

We’re pulling it all together now.

Why don’t you get some rest at the hotel? This is going to be a long investigation.

But Mark knew rest was impossible.

Not when they finally had a lead, finally had a name.

Jake Morrison had made one mistake, keeping those trophies where they could eventually be found.

Now Mark just had to hope the man had made others enough to lead them to Ethan before another 6 years passed.

Mark’s house felt emptier than ever as he walked through the door at 9:00 p.m.exhausted from the flight back to Denver.

Detective Chen had insisted he return home while they pursued leads on Jake Morrison, promising to call the moment they had any developments.

The familiar surroundings only emphasized the absence of Sarah’s voice calling from the kitchen.

Ethan’s toys scattered across the living room floor.

He dropped his bag by the door and moved to his home office, powering up his laptop.

If he couldn’t be in Colorado actively searching, at least he could research.

Jake Morrison’s name yielded frustratingly little online.

No social media profiles, no recent addresses, just a few employment verification records that deadended in 2019.

Mark’s phone buzzed with a text from Chen.

Teams checking Morrison’s last known contacts in Utah will update in A.M.

He set the phone aside and pulled out his notebook from the trip, reviewing everything they’d learned.

Sarah’s jewelry in Morrison’s locker.

the young man’s sudden departure, the way he’d apparently vanished without a trace, taking possibly Ethan with him.

But something nagged at Mark as he reviewed his notes from the shelter searches.

He’d written down Mitchell’s comment about the Avalanche Creek shelter lock being replaced 4 years ago because it kept jamming.

That would have been 2020 after Morrison had already left.

Yet Mitchell had known the exact year without checking any records.

Mark shook his head.

He was overthinking things, seeing suspicious details where none existed.

Mitchell managed maintenance for all the shelters.

Of course, he’d remember when locks were replaced.

Still, other small details surfaced as he reviewed the day.

The way Mitchell had stayed close during the entire search, always within earshot of police communications, how he’d volunteered immediately to help, inserting himself into the investigation.

His detailed memory of Morrison, despite claiming the man, was forgettable.

And there was something else, something Mitchell had said at the shelter that bothered Mark.

What was it? He closed his eyes, trying to recall the exact words.

I think about it every time I pass morning glory pool.

Such a beautiful place to hide something so terrible.

Hide something terrible.

not for something terrible to happen or where something terrible occurred.

Hide as if it were deliberate planned.

Mark picked up his phone and scrolled to Detective Chen’s number.

He hesitated, finger hovering over the call button.

What was he going to say? That the helpful ranger who’d spent his entire day assisting them had used a slightly odd turn of phrase.

But the unease wouldn’t leave him.

He placed the call.

Chen here.

Detective, it’s Mark Brennan.

I know this might sound paranoid, but I’ve been thinking about Ranger Mitchell.

What about him? Just small things.

The way he phrased certain comments, how he knew specific details without checking records.

He’s been incredibly helpful, maybe too helpful.

Chen was quiet for a moment.

It’s not unusual for local officials to insert themselves into investigations, especially in small communities, but I’ll make a note to look into his background more thoroughly.

Did he do or say anything specifically concerning? No, nothing concrete.

I’m probably just grasping at straws because we’re focused on Morrison.

Grief and stress can make us see patterns that aren’t there, Chen said gently.

But I’ve learned to trust family members instincts.

I’ll have someone quietly verify Mitchell’s whereabouts on July 15th 6 years ago just to be thorough.

After ending the call, Mark felt both foolish and relieved.

He was probably manufacturing suspicion where none belonged, but at least Chen would check.

He moved to the kitchen to make coffee, knowing sleep would be elusive despite his exhaustion.

His laptop dinged with an email notification.

The sender was T.

Mitchell.

Subject line information about Jay Morrison.

You should see Mark’s pulse quickened.

How did Mitchell have his email address? Then he remembered they’d exchanged contact information during the search in case anyone remembered additional details.

The email was brief.

Mr.Brennan, I’ve been going through old employee files and found some concerning items about Morrison.

I think Detective Chen should see immediately.

I’m back in Denver tonight for a meeting tomorrow.

Could I stop by briefly? I have work logs that show Morrison’s assignments the week your family disappeared.

Tom Mitchell.

Mark stared at the screen.

Mitchell was offering to bring evidence about Morrison directly to his house at night.

Every instinct screamed that something was wrong.

But what if the ranger really had found something important? What if this was the break they needed to find Ethan? He could call Chen back, ask her to be present.

But that seemed overly paranoid for someone who’d been nothing but helpful.

Mitchell was law enforcement himself, a respected ranger with 15 years of service.

Mark was letting exhaustion and desperation cloud his judgment.

He typed back, “I’ll be up.

Coffee’s on if you want some.

” A while later, headlights swept across his living room windows.

Mark watched through the blinds as Mitchell’s park service truck pulled into his driveway.

The ranger emerged carrying a manila folder and what looked like a small evidence box.

Mark opened the door before Mitchell could knock.

Thanks for making the drive.

Come in.

Mitchell entered with the easy confidence of someone comfortable in any situation.

I hope I’m not intruding.

I know it’s late, but I thought you’d want to see this immediately.

Can I get you that coffee? Mark offered, leading him to the kitchen.

That would be great.

It’s been a long day.

Mitchell set his materials on the kitchen table and took a seat, looking around with interest.

Nice place.

Very homey.

Mark poured two mugs, his back to Mitchell as he added sugar to his own.

Behind him, he heard papers rustling as the ranger opened his folder.

So, I cross- referenced Morrison’s work assignments with the trail logs from that week, Mitchell began.

He was scheduled for maintenance on the Upper Loop Trail the day your family disappeared.

That would put him in direct proximity to Morning Glory Pool.

Mark turned with the coffee mugs, noticing Mitchell had spread several official looking documents across the table.

Work schedules, assignment logs, time sheets.

It all looked legitimate, damning evidence against Morrison.

“This is incredible,” Mark said, setting Mitchell’s mug in front of him and taking a seat with his own.

“How did Morrison’s assignments not come up in the original investigation?” “Bureaucratic oversight,” Mitchell said, taking a sip of coffee.

“Different departments, different filing systems, things fall through the cracks.

” He pulled out another paper.

But here’s the really interesting part.

Morrison requested that specific assignment, traded shifts with another worker to be on that trail that day.

Mark leaned forward to examine the document, his coffee mug warm between his hands.

The information was compelling, painting a picture of Morrison as a predator who’d planned his crime.

He took a long drink of coffee, feeling the caffeine hit his exhausted system.

We need to get this to Detective Chen immediately,” Mark said, reaching for his phone.

But his hand felt strangely heavy, his movements sluggish.

The kitchen seemed to tilt slightly.

Mitchell continued talking, his voice steady and calm.

“You know, the thing about Morrison is he was always too obvious, too convenient, the quiet laner, the sudden departure.

Real life isn’t usually that neat.

” Mark tried to focus on Mitchell’s face, but his vision was blurring.

The coffee mug slipped from his numb fingers, brown liquid spreading across the documents.

“What did you?” “I’m truly sorry about this, Mark.

” Mitchell’s voice sounded distant despite being right across the table.

“You just had to mention your concerns to the detective, didn’t you? I saw her making notes about checking my background.

Couldn’t have that.

” The room spun violently.

Mark attempted to stand, but his legs wouldn’t support him.

He slumped sideways, barely aware of Mitchell rising from his chair, moving around the table with unhurried purpose.

“Don’t fight it,” Mitchell said gently, catching Mark before he hit the floor.

“It’s just a seditive.

We have a drive ahead of us, and I need you compliant.

You’re going to see your son again, Mark.

Isn’t that what you wanted, Ethan?” Through the fog of whatever Mitchell had given him, that name broke through.

His son was alive.

Mitchell knew where he was.

Mark tried to speak to demand answers, but his mouth wouldn’t form words.

The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Mitchell’s weathered face looking down at him with something almost like regret.

Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water.

Mark’s head throbbed.

His mouth felt lined with cotton.

And for several disorienting moments, he couldn’t remember where he was.

The surface beneath him was hard, cold, a wooden floor, not his bed.

His wrists were bound behind his back with what felt like zip ties, and his ankles were similarly restrained.

Memory crashed back.

Mitchell in his kitchen, the drugged coffee, the terrifying promise about seeing Ethan.

Mark forced his eyes open, blinking against the dim light filtering through dirty windows.

He was in a cabin, not one of the park’s emergency shelters, but something older, more remote.

The walls were rough huneed logs, gaps chinkedked with concrete.

A wood stove sat cold in one corner.

The single room smelled of must and something else, something that made his stomach turn.

Old food, unwashed bodies, the scent of prolonged human habitation.

Ah, you’re awake.

Mitchell’s voice came from near the door.

The ranger sat in a wooden chair, still in his uniform, looking as calm as if they were sharing coffee at the station.

The sedative was carefully measured.

You’ve been out about 3 hours.

Where are we? Mark’s voice came out raspy.

My grandfather’s old hunting cabin about 15 mi from any trail, completely off the grid.

I’ve been meaning to sell it for years, but it’s proven useful.

Mitchell stood, moving to check Mark’s restraints with professional efficiency.

Can’t have you getting loose.

Not yet.

You killed Sarah.

It wasn’t a question.

Mitchell’s face tightened.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

None of it was supposed to happen the way it did.

He moved to the window, gazing out at the dark forest.

My wife Rebecca and I had been trying for children for 5 years.

Three miscarriages.

The last one just a month before that July nearly killed her.

The depression afterwards.

She attempted suicide twice.

Mark tested his bonds, finding no give.

So you stole mine? I didn’t plan it.

Mitchell turned back, his expression almost pleading for understanding.

That morning, I was checking the shelters like I told you.

The weather turned bad.

Unexpected storm cell.

I was at Avalanche Creek shelter when your wife came running in with Ethan.

She was scared.

The lightning was close.

Asked if they could wait it out with me.

The ranger began pacing, lost in the memory.

Ethan was perfect.

2 years old, those blonde girls calling me Mr.

Ranger in that sweet voice.

He played with my radio, pretended to call for backup.

Sarah was laughing.

Said he loved anything with buttons.

So trusting both of them.

You sick bastard.

Mark growled.

I wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

Mitchell’s voice rose.

But then Sarah mentioned you were homesick that no one knew exactly where they were hiking.

The storm got worse.

She decided to stay the night rather than risk hiking with Ethan in that weather.

No cell signal to let you know.

Mark’s heart pounded as he pieced together his wife’s final hours, seeking safety in the storm, trusting the park ranger making the sensible choice to protect their son.

I called Rebecca on the satellite phone, Mitchell continued.

Told her about this beautiful little boy who needed a home whose mother couldn’t take care of him properly, letting him hike in dangerous weather.

Rebecca was so excited.

For the first time in months, she sounded alive again.

“Sarah was an excellent mother,” Mark spat.

“Maybe, but in that moment, all I could think about was giving Rebecca hope.

” Mitchell’s hands clenched and unclenched.

After Ethan fell asleep, I tried to convince Sarah to let us adopt him.

Told her about our struggles, our losses.

She was sympathetic, but of course said no.

That’s when I he trailed off, but Mark could fill in the blanks.

In that remote shelter, with no witnesses except a sleeping toddler, Mitchell had made his choice.

I used a sleeper hold.

She didn’t suffer.

Mitchell’s voice had gone flat.

Then I had to figure out what to do.

I wrapped her body in a tarp from the shelter supplies, put rocks in with her, carried her to morning glory pool before dawn.

The hot springs would destroy any evidence.

I thought took her jewelry as proof she was gone.

Planned to plant it on someone eventually.

Morrison Mark said, “Poor Jake.

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong personality.

The perfect fall guy when needed.

” Mitchell actually smiled.

I kept those items for years, waiting for the right moment.

When they found Sarah’s remains, I knew it was time to deflect suspicion.

Where’s my son? Mark demanded.

Mitchell checked his watch.

Rebecca will be bringing him soon and the supplies we’ll need to deal with you.

She’s known the truth from the beginning.

Help me create the adoption story, dye his hair, keep him hidden those first months.

She’s been a wonderful mother to him these six years.

His name is Ethan, not whatever you’ve been calling him.

Owen.

We call him Owen Mitchell.

The rers’s voice softened.

He’s happy.

Mark, good student.

Loves soccer.

Wants to be a park ranger like his dad.

He doesn’t remember you or Sarah.

As far as he knows, Rebecca and I are his whole world.

The sound of an approaching vehicle made Mitchell move to the window.

Headlights swept across the trees.

Right on time.

Now you’re going to stay calm and quiet.

Rebecca’s bringing the supplies.

Tarp, lie, shovels.

Owen’s in the car.

We told him we’re checking on the old cabin may be staying the night.

Any sound from you and we’ll have to traumatize the boy by letting him see things no child should see.

Mark heard car doors voices.

A woman’s pleasant tone and then his heart nearly stopped.

A young boy’s voice deeper than he remembered but unmistakably Ethan.

His son was just outside, alive, within reach but impossibly far away.

The cabin door opened.

A woman entered first, mid-40s, with graying hair and cold eyes that assessed the situation with practiced calm.

She carried a large duffel bag that made ominous clinking sounds.

“Is he secure?” she asked Mitchell, her voice business-like.

“Tight as can be.

Where’s Owen?” “In the truck with his iPad told him we’d be a few minutes checking for mice.

” Rebecca set the bag down, unzipping it to reveal folded blue tarp, bottles of chemicals, and other supplies.

We should have done this years ago when he started asking questions about the other woman.

Mark’s blood ran cold.

They’d done this before.

Through the dirty window, Mark could see the truck parked outside, a small figure illuminated by the interior light.

8 years old now, focused on whatever was playing on his screen.

Even from this distance, even with the dyed hair, Mark knew it was his son.

Smart thinking with the iPad, Mitchell said.

How long will that keep him occupied? Downloaded a new game before we left.

Should give us at least an hour.

Rebecca pulled on latex gloves with disturbing efficiency.

Where are we taking him? There’s an old minehaft about 3 mi north.

100 ft drop, floods in spring.

By the time anyone finds anything, there won’t be much left.

You killed others? Mark choked out? Rebecca laughed, a cold sound.

Just one.

A hiker who saw too much 5 years ago recognized Owen from an old missing poster at a gas station.

Tom’s not the only one who will protect our family.

We’re a team, Mitchell said, moving to help his wife prepare the tarp.

Partners in everything.

When I brought Ethan home that night, told her what happened, she didn’t hesitate, said we’d been given a gift, and we’d do whatever it took to keep him.

Mark tested his bonds desperately.

His son was just outside playing games, unaware his parents were preparing to murder his real father.

The same people who’d killed his mother were about to make him a complete orphan.

“Please,” Mark tried.

“You have what you wanted.

You have Ethan.

Just let me go.

I’ll disappear, never contact you again.

You already told that detective you were suspicious of Tom, Rebecca interrupted.

No, Mr.

Brennan, you should have left the past buried like your wife.

A sound outside made them all freeze.

Car doors slamming multiple vehicles.

Rebecca rushed to the window.

someone’s coming.

Looks like her face pald.

police, multiple units.

Mitchell grabbed his rifle from the cabinet.

How did they find us? Through the window, Mark saw officers taking positions, and his heart leaped, then plummeted as he saw Owen getting out of the truck, confused by the sudden activity.

The boy stood frozen between the cabin and the police cars, his iPad dropping from his hands.

“Owen!” Rebecca shouted.

“Get back in the truck.

” But the boy just stood there caught in the developing chaos as police loudspeakers crackled to life and his parents prepared for a confrontation that would shatter his world completely.

Tom Mitchell.

Detective Chen’s voice boomed through a megaphone.

This is the police.

We have the cabin surrounded.

Send out Mark Brennan and the boy, then exit with your hands visible.

How? Rebecca hissed, clutching the chemical bottles.

We were careful.

Mitchell peered through the window, rifle in hand.

Brennan’s phone.

They must have tracked it here.

Or his car at the house.

Chen knew he suspected me.

Mark felt a surge of hope.

Chen had taken his concern seriously after all.

Had been monitoring him.

When he’d gone silent after Mitchell’s visit, she’d acted.

Mom, Dad.

Owen’s voice carried from outside high and scared.

“What’s happening?” “Get him back in the truck,” Mitchell ordered.

But Rebecca was already moving to the door.

“Owen, honey, get in the truck right now,” she called out, trying to keep her voice calm.

“Lock the doors and stay down.

” Through the window, Mark could see his son’s small figure running back to the vehicle, clearly terrified.

Police officers held their positions.

not wanting to traumatize the child further.

“We can still get out of this,” Mitchell said, his ranger training taking over.

“The old logging road out back if we can reach the truck with cops everywhere.

” Rebecca’s composure was cracking.

“Tom, we’re surrounded.

Then we negotiate.

We have Brennan as a hostage.

” Mark laughed bitterly from the floor.

Negotiate? You murdered my wife.

You kidnapped my son.

You killed another hiker.

What exactly do you think you can negotiate? Shut up.

Rebecca kicked him hard in the ribs.

This is your fault if you just left things alone.

If I’d left my son with his mother’s killers, Mark spat blood.

Never.

Mitchell was checking his ammunition movements quick and professional.

They don’t know about Stevens.

That hiker’s death was ruled an accident.

if we can.

The phone in Mitchell’s pocket rang.

He looked at the screen.

Chen’s number.

Answer it, Rebecca urged.

See what they want.

Mitchell put it on speaker.

Detective Tom, this doesn’t have to end badly.

Chen’s voice was calm but firm.

Send out Mr.

Brennan.

Let’s talk about this.

There’s nothing to talk about, Mitchell replied.

You’ve made assumptions based on the paranoid delusions of a grieving father.

We have evidence, Tom.

Sarah Brennan’s jewelry with your fingerprints, not Morrison’s.

Security footage of you accessing that locker multiple times over the years.

Your cabin rental records showing you were here, not at the shelters.

The morning of July 15th, 6 years ago, Rebecca and Mitchell exchanged looks.

Mark saw the moment they realized the walls were closing in.

“What do you want?” Mitchell asked.

“Send out Brennan and the boy.

Then you and Rebecca exit with hands visible.

It’s over, Tom.

Don’t make this worse.

” “Worse?” Mitchell laughed harshly.

“You want to take our son?” “He’s not your son,” Chen said firmly.

“He’s Ethan Brennan, and he deserves to know the truth.

” Rebecca grabbed the phone.

That boy doesn’t even remember his birth parents.

We’re the only family he knows.

You want to destroy his life? You destroyed his life when you murdered his mother.

Chen responded.

Rebecca, I know you’re scared, but think about Owen.

Ethan, do you want his last memory of you to be a shootout? Let him remember the good times, not this.

Mark watched Rebecca’s face contort with rage and grief.

For six years, she’d been living her dream.

A happy family, a loving son.

Now it was crumbling.

There were no good times, Mark shouted toward the phone.

Every birthday, every Christmas, every bedtime story was built on my wife’s murder.

You’re not his parents.

You’re the monsters who killed his real mother.

Mitchell raised the rifle toward Mark.

One more word.

An LED spotlight suddenly blazed through the window, blinding them.

In that moment of disorientation, they heard the truck door opening outside.

“No!” Rebecca screamed.

“Owen, stay in the truck.

” But through the chaos, Mark heard his son’s voice.

“Closer now.

” “Mom! Dad, I’m scared.

” The policeman said to come to him.

“Get back!” Mitchell roared, spinning toward the door.

Everything happened at once.

Rebecca lunged for the door to get to Owen.

Mitchell, blinded by the spotlight, swung his rifle wildly.

Mark rolled hard to his left, using his bound body to trip Rebecca, who crashed into Mitchell.

The rifle fired, the sound deafening in the small cabin.

Wood splinters exploded from the doorframe.

Outside, officers shouted commands and Owen screamed, a sound that tore through Mark’s heart.

“Shots fired! Shots fired!” someone yelled outside.

Mitchell struggled to regain his balance, but tear gas canisters crashed through the windows.

Smoke filled the cabin instantly, choking and blinding.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath, feeling Rebecca stumbling over him as she tried to reach the door.

“Owen!” she screamed through the gas.

“My baby!” Strong hands grabbed Mark, dragging him toward fresh air.

He gasped as cool night air hit his lungs, blinking through tears to see tactical officers swarming the cabin.

Mitchell and Rebecca were being forced to the ground, officers restraining them as they struggled and screamed for their son.

“Ethan’s safe,” Chen said, appearing beside Mark as medics cut his restraints.

“We got him to the ambulance.

He’s terrified, but unharmed.

” Mark’s arms screamed as circulation returned, but he forced himself upright.

I need to see him soon.

Let the medics now.

Mark pushed past her, stumbling toward the ambulance where he could see a small figure wrapped in a blanket.

His son sat on the ambulance bumper, a female officer kneeling beside him, speaking softly.

The boy’s face was stre with tears, his whole body shaking.

When he saw Mark approaching, he shrank back.

“That’s him,” Owen whispered to the officer.

That’s the man they had tied up.

Is he a bad person? Mark stopped a few feet away, his heart breaking.

Behind him, he could hear Mitchell and Rebecca being read their rights, still shouting about their son, their family, their rights.

But all Mark could see was the terrified 8-year-old who didn’t know him at all.

“No, sweetheart,” the officer told Owen gently.

“He’s not bad.

In fact, he’s been looking for you for a very long time.

Looking for me? Confusion mixed with fear in those familiar eyes.

“Why?” Mark knelt slowly, making himself smaller, non-threatening.

“Because I love you,” he said simply.

“And I’ve missed you every single day.

” Owen Ethan stared at him, then looked back toward where his parents were being loaded into police cars.

The boy’s world was shattering, everything he’d believed ripping apart.

Mark wanted nothing more than to gather him into his arms, but he stayed still, letting his son process this impossible moment.

“They said you were bad,” the boy whispered.

“They said, “I know,” Mark said gently.

“They told you a lot of things that weren’t true.

and that’s going to be really hard to understand, but I promise you we’ll figure it out together when you’re ready.

The night was filled with sirens, radio chatter, officers processing the scene.

But in that moment, there was only Mark and his son, separated by three feet and six years of lies, beginning the long journey back to truth.

The Mitchells are being processed at county, Chen informed him.

Both are being charged with murder, kidnapping, conspiracy.

Tom broke down completely during booking, but Rebecca’s maintaining they did nothing wrong, that they saved Ethan from neglectful parents.

“She’s delusional,” Mark said flatly.

“Chen consulted her notes.

” “Mitchell’s confession matches what he told you at the cabin.

He killed your wife at the shelter, but Rebecca was fully complicit from the moment he brought Ethan home.

She helped dye his hair, created the adoption cover story, kept him hidden.

When that hiker recognized Ethan 5 years ago, Rebecca was the one who pushed him off the cliff while Tom created an alibi elsewhere.

But how did Sarah end up in Morning Glory Pool? Mitchell went back three nights later during his regular patrol.

He needed somewhere the body would never be found or if found wouldn’t have usable evidence.

He knew the hot springs would destroy DNA, fingerprints, everything.

Morning Glory was perfect, deep, isolated.

The mineral content would break down organic matter quickly.

Mark felt sick, imagining Mitchell returning to move Sarah’s body, calculating the best place to hide his crime.

While Mark frantically searched for his family, “The forged adoption papers were Rebecca’s work,” Chen continued.

She had a cousin who worked in family services years ago, learned enough about the system to create believable documentation.

They told neighbors they’d adopted through a private arrangement.

After one year, when the searches died down and his hair had been thoroughly dyed, they started introducing Owen as their son.

“They planned all of it together,” Mark said, feeling sick.

“The really disturbing part is they seem to think they were good parents.

Both keep insisting they gave Ethan a better life than he would have had.

The psychological evaluations are going to be interesting.

So, what happens now? Supervised visits to start play therapy to help him process the truth at his pace.

Eventually, if things progress well, gradual integration into your life.

But Mr.

Brennan, you need to prepare yourself.

He may never fully remember his early years with you and Sarah.

Through the observation window, Mark could see his son with a social worker and Dr.

Martinez.

Ethan sat hunched in a chair, arms wrapped around himself, looking utterly lost.

The two people he’d trusted completely were in jail for murder.

His entire world was a lie.

“Can I see him?” Mark asked.

Dr.

Martinez hesitated briefly.

“He’s been asking about the Mitchells, wanting to know if they’re okay.

He’s not ready to accept you as his father, but seeing you might help him understand you’re not the enemy they painted you as.

” Mark entered the room slowly.

Ethan looked up with those achingly familiar eyes, pressing closer to the social worker.

“Hi,” Mark said softly, sitting in a chair across from them.

“I know you’re scared and confused.

I just wanted you to know that I’ve been looking for you for a very long time and whenever you’re ready.

If you want to talk or ask questions, I’ll be here.

Ethan studied him for a long moment.

The policeman said, “You’re my real dad.

” “Yes, and my mom and dad.

They killed someone.

” The pain in his voice was devastating.

It’s very complicated, Mark said carefully.

The doctors are going to help us understand everything together, okay? What matters right now is that you’re safe.

But I love them, Ethan whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks.

They read me stories and took me camping and made me pancakes on Saturdays.

How can they be bad people if they loved me? Mark nodded slightly, then turned to the social worker.

It was a dismissal, but Mark would take what he could get.

His son was alive, traumatized, confused, but alive.

Everything else could be worked through with time.

As he left the room, Mark thought about Sarah, how she would have handled this with so much more grace, so much more wisdom.

But she wasn’t here, murdered by a desperate man who’d stolen their son.

He’ll need you to be patient, Dr.

Martinez said quietly beside him.

To let him grieve the only life he’s known, even as you’re grieving the years you lost.

It’s not the reunion you dreamed of, but it’s a beginning.

Mark nodded, watching through the window as his son, Ethan, no matter what name he answered to, slowly began to process his shattered world.

It would be a long journey back to each other.

But after 6 years of emptiness, Mark finally had hope.