Chapter 2 - The House on the Cliff
The storm off the coast of Maine was relentless. Dark, churning Atlantic waves smashed against the jagged black rocks of Portland, sending plumes of freezing spray over the coastal road.
Ethan parked the black SUV outside the heavy iron gates of the St. Jude Home for Children. The building was an imposing, hundred-year-old Gothic structure made of gray stone, perched high on a cliff overlooking the grey ocean.
Ethan stepped out into the rain. He wore no coat, only his suit, the cold rain soaking his hair within seconds, but he felt nothing. His mind was entirely fixated on a single name.
Leo.
He walked up the stone steps and pushed through the heavy wooden double doors. The interior smelled of old floor wax, boiled cabbage, and damp wool. A middle-aged nun in a dark habit sat at a reception desk beneath a faded wooden crucifix, typing on an outdated computer.
She looked up, her sharp blue eyes assessing Ethan’s tailored, soaked suit and the cold intensity radiating from his face.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked conservatively.
"I need to see the director," Ethan said.
"Mother Superior is in prayer until four o'clock. If you are here regarding a donation—"
"I am Ethan Park," he interrupted, setting his black credit card on the wooden counter. "I need to see Leo Dawson."
The nun stopped typing. Her hands tightened on the edge of the desk. The warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by an instant, protective chill.
"There is no Leo Dawson here," she said flatly.
Ethan leaned over the counter. "Don't lie to me. Claire Dawson brought him here. She died here, didn't she?"
The nun stared at him for several long seconds. She slowly pushed the credit card back toward him without touching it.
"Claire Dawson was a saint who worked in our infirmary for six years until her heart failed," the nun said, her voice dripping with quiet disdain. "She spent her final days praying that the men who drove her out of Chicago would never find her son. If you are a Park, Mr. Park, you are not welcome in this house."
Ethan felt a physical ache behind his ribs. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, swallowing the bitter iron taste in his mouth.
"I didn't know," Ethan whispered. The raw, broken tone in his voice made the nun pause. "I swear on her memory... I didn't know he existed until six hours ago. My grandfather lied to me. He hid her letters."
He reached into his jacket, pulled out the navy-blue box, and lifted the lid. He held out the pale gray knitted shoe and the faded letter in Claire’s handwriting.
The nun looked down at the tiny shoe. Her sharp expression softened slightly, a flicker of profound sadness passing across her worn face.
"Sister Teresa?" a small voice called out from the dark hallway behind the desk.
Ethan’s heart stopped beating.
He turned slowly.
Standing at the end of the dimly lit hallway was a ten-year-old boy. He wore a patched navy sweater, faded jeans, and worn canvas sneakers. His dark hair was messy, falling over a high forehead, and his chin had a faint, stubborn cleft in the center.
But it was his eyes that stripped Ethan of all his defenses.
They were deep, clear, intelligent green eyes—the exact same eyes that had looked at him through the rain outside a twenty-four-hour diner ten years ago.
The boy was holding a wooden block he had been carving with a small blunt tool. He looked at Ethan, his gaze steady, searching, completely devoid of fear.
"Who are you?" the boy asked. "Are you here about the roof repairs?"
Ethan dropped to his knees on the cold marble floor. The powerful CEO of Park Meridian Group, a man feared by corporate boards across the Midwest, was reduced to a shaking, broken shell.
"No, Leo," Ethan managed to say, his voice cracking violently. "I'm not here about the roof."
Leo took two steps forward, his small brow furrowing as he looked at the grown man kneeling before him in wet clothes.
"How do you know my name?" Leo asked.
May you like
Ethan raised his hands, holding the tiny gray knitted shoe in his open palms.
"Your mother made this," Ethan whispered, tears finally streaming down his face, washing away ten years of cold, bitter lies. "She made it for the day I would finally come to find you."
