Chapter 3
I called my lawyer, Mark, at 7 AM the next day.
He’d been my friend since high school, had helped me through two bad business deals and a messy landlord dispute.
When I told him the whole story—Sarah, the locket, Richard, Ethan—he went quiet for a second.
“Send me the birth certificate,” he said.
“Send me everything you have. I’ll file for a temporary restraining order against Richard within the hour. We’ll get full custody of Ethan, and we’ll make that son of a bitch pay for every dollar he stole.”
Sarah was sitting at my kitchen table when I hung up, picking at a plate of pancakes I’d made.
Ethan was still asleep in the guest room.
I’d driven to their small apartment in Fort Worth the night before, while Richard was out drinking, helped Sarah pack their things, carried Ethan out to my truck asleep in his car seat.
He’d woken up once, looked at me with big, sleepy brown eyes—my eyes—and asked if I was the new babysitter.
I’d told him I was a friend of his mom’s.
He’d smiled, rolled over, and gone back to sleep.
“Mark says we’ll have the restraining order by noon,” I said.
I sat down across from Sarah, pushed the syrup toward her.
“Richard won’t be able to come within 500 feet of you, Ethan, or the shop. If he does, he goes straight to jail.”
Sarah let out a breath she’d been holding.
Her shoulders relaxed a little, the first time I’d seen them not hunched up around her ears.
“Thank you,” she said.
She looked down at her plate.
“I don’t know how to pay you back for any of this. The locket, the lawyer, the roof over our heads—”
“Hey,” I said.
I reached across the table, covered her hand with mine.
Her hand was small, just like Lila’s.
“You don’t owe me anything. I’m your dad. This is what dads do. I missed 22 years of your life. I’m not missing any more.”
She looked up at me, tears in her eyes again, but this time they were happy tears.
She nodded, squeezed my hand.
An hour later, Mark called.
The restraining order was granted.
He’d also filed an emergency motion to terminate Richard’s guardianship of Ethan, scheduled for three days from now in Fort Worth.
He said we had a good chance—Richard had a prior arrest for domestic violence, a string of gambling debts, proof he’d embezzled Lila’s life insurance payout.
“The only thing we’re missing is the money for Ethan’s trial,” Mark said.
“Richard froze Sarah’s bank account yesterday. She can’t access any of her own money. You said you have the twelve thousand from the shop?”
“I have more,” I said.
I looked at Sarah, who was listening from the other side of the table, her face tight.
“I have forty thousand in savings. I was gonna use it to expand the shop. Ethan’s more important.”
“Dad, no,” Sarah said.
She stood up, shaking her head.
“That’s your life’s work. I can’t let you—”
“Ethan’s your life,” I said.
I cut her off, gentle but firm.
“He’s my grandson. The shop can wait. He can’t.”
I called my part-time assistant, Mia, told her I’d be closed for the rest of the week.
She’d worked for me for five years, knew almost everything about my search for Lila and the baby.
When I told her I’d found Sarah, she screamed so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear.
“I’m starting a GoFundMe,” she said.
“For Ethan. I’ll post it on the shop’s Facebook page, all the local jewelry groups. People love you, Tom. They’ll help.”
By the time we pulled up to the children’s hospital in Houston that afternoon, the GoFundMe had already raised $8,000.
Mia had texted me a screenshot, along with a dozen messages from regular customers saying they’d drop off checks at the shop.
I showed Sarah.
She cried again, this time laughing through the tears.
Ethan was in the oncology wing, room 412.
He was sitting up in bed when we walked in, a dinosaur coloring book in his lap, his head covered in a soft blue beanie.
His face lit up when he saw Sarah.
“Mommy!” he yelled.
He held his arms out.
Sarah ran to the bed, hugged him tight, kissed the top of his beanie.
“Hi, baby. I missed you so much.”
Ethan looked over her shoulder at me, his head tilted to the side.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
Sarah pulled back, wiped her eyes, looked at me.
She smiled, a real, bright smile that looked exactly like Lila’s.
“Ethan,” she said.
She took my hand, pulled me toward the bed.
“This is Tom. He’s… he’s your grandpa.”
Ethan’s eyes went wide.
He looked at me, then at Sarah, then back at me.
“Grandpa?” he said.
He held out a small, chubby hand.
“Like in the cartoons? Do you bring presents?”
I laughed, a real, loud laugh I hadn’t felt in years.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, shook his hand gently.
“I do bring presents,” I said.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the tiny silver dinosaur charm I’d made the night before, the one I’d stayed up until 2 AM carving.
I’d made it just like the rose on the locket, every scale carved by hand.
Ethan’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Cool!” he yelled.
He held it up to the light, turning it over and over.
“Can you make me a T-Rex next?”
“Anything you want, kiddo,” I said.
I looked at Sarah, who was watching us with tears in her eyes.
May you like
I squeezed her hand.
For the first time in 22 years, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
