Chapter 3 - The Scars We Carry
"East side?" I echoed, my mind racing. "What do you mean?"
Seattle was divided by neighborhoods, but the way Aiden said the East side sounded specific, almost clinical. He was referring to Bellevue or Mercer Island—the affluent suburbs across Lake Washington. The exact place where my husband, David, and I had built our dream home before the accident tore our lives apart.
"Aiden, please," I whispered, reaching into my purse and pulling out a business card and a stack of crisp twenties. I laid them on the table, keeping my distance. "The shelters are full tonight. You said it yourself. Please take this. Get a hotel room down on 4th Street. It's safe, warm, and dry."
Milo looked at the money, then at his brother, his eyes pleading. "Aiden... my feet are wet. My shoes are leaking."
Aiden looked down at his brother's worn sneakers, the rubber soles peeling away from the damp canvas. The protective wall he had built around himself cracked just a fraction. He looked back at me, his dark eyes searching my face for any sign of deception.
"Why are you helping us?" Aiden asked, his voice rough. "You don't know us."
"Because I couldn't protect my boys," I admitted, my voice breaking as tears finally spilled over my lashes. "And looking at you... I can't let you freeze tonight. Please. Take it."
Aiden slowly reached out his thin, chapped hand and picked up the cash along with my card. He slipped them into his oversized jacket pocket. "Thank you, ma'am."
"My name is Eleanor," I said, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. "Eleanor Vance."
When I uttered my last name, Aiden froze completely. The color drained from his face so fast I thought he might faint. He stared at me as if I had just pointed a weapon at him.
"Vance?" he whispered, his lips barely moving.
"Yes," I said, puzzled by his reaction. "Eleanor Vance."
Before I could ask another question, Aiden grabbed Milo by the shoulder, pulled him out of the booth, and bolted toward the diner's double glass doors.
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"Aiden! Wait!" I shouted, pushing myself up from the table.
By the time I reached the street, the cold rain hit my face like needles. I looked left and right down the dimly lit avenue, but the two boys had already vanished into the misty Seattle gloom, leaving me alone with a pounding heart and a terrifying truth: they hadn't just looked like my sons. They knew my name.
