CHAPTER 3 — The Child Who Had His Eyes
Outside CVS, rain hit the pavement like scattered glass.
Eleanor walked fast.
Too fast.
The child struggled to keep up in her pink boots.
Maxwell followed without asking permission.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he said.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Eleanor replied without turning.
Maxwell’s voice stayed calm.
“No,” he said.
“You didn’t.”
A pause.
“But you’re still taking it.”
That made her stop.
She turned sharply.
“Why are you here, Maxwell?”
He looked at her.
Really looked.
Three years had changed her.
But not enough to erase her completely.
“I was passing by,” he said.
A lie.
Eleanor gave a short, humorless laugh.
“You don’t pass by CVS on Boylston Street.”
Silence.
The child tugged her sleeve again.
“Mommy, my tummy hurts.”
Eleanor immediately crouched.
“I know, sweetheart. We’re going home.”
Maxwell’s gaze dropped to the child again.
The same gray eyes.
The same structure of face he saw every morning in the mirror.
Recognition began as discomfort.
Then became pattern.
Then became something worse.
Possibility.
“What’s her name?” he asked quietly.
Eleanor stiffened.
“That’s not your concern.”
Maxwell didn’t move.
“It is now.”
The child answered before Eleanor could stop her.
“I’m Lily,” she said proudly.
Then smiled at him.
Maxwell stopped breathing for half a second.
Lily.
Not Callahan.
Not Bennett.
Just Lily.
Eleanor grabbed her hand quickly.
“Don’t talk to strangers,” she said firmly.
Maxwell’s voice lowered.
“I’m not a stranger.”
Eleanor finally met his eyes fully.
May you like
“That,” she said quietly,
“is exactly what you are.”
