By the time Caleb was seven, he was a quiet, withdrawn child, his blue eyes always watchful, perpetually searching for a sign of approval that never came. His first day of first grade at Harmony Ridge Elementary should have been a momentous occasion. But Mike was buried in work at the shop, trying to fix a complex transmission issue, so the task of taking Caleb to school fell to Brenda. She walked him as far as the school’s front gate, pointed vaguely towards a group of teachers, and promptly left.
— “Your classroom is over there somewhere,” she said, already distracted by her phone. “Go find your teacher and be good. You know the way home. I have errands to run.”
Caleb, clutching a generic backpack Mike had hastily bought at the local Walmart, shuffled uncertainly toward the throng of children and parents. Other families were taking pictures, mothers were adjusting collars, and fathers were giving last-minute hugs. Caleb stood alone, with no one to smile proudly at him or wave goodbye. The welcome assembly in the gymnasium seemed to last forever, with the principal droning on about school rules and spirit.
Afterwards, his teacher, a kind-faced woman named Mrs. Gable, led the class to their room for introductions. Caleb sat in silence, scuffing the toes of his new sneakers against the floor. When the final bell rang, the hallway filled with parents eager to collect their children. Caleb walked home by himself, a hollow ache in his chest.
He didn’t make it far. Underneath the school’s main stairwell, a group of older boys, fourth-graders looking to cure their boredom, cornered him.
— “Hey, blondie, what’s that ugly thing on your face? Did a bird poop on you?” one of them taunted, nudging his friends.
A hot flush of shame spread across Caleb’s cheeks. He knew they were talking about his birthmark.
— “Leave me alone,” he mumbled, trying to sound tougher than he felt.
The ringleader grabbed the front of Caleb’s new jacket and yanked him forward. The cheap fabric gave way with a sickening rip, leaving two jagged tears across the sleeve. The sudden shout of a teacher on yard duty scattered the bullies, but Caleb was already running, hot tears blurring his vision. Brenda would be furious about the jacket; she always complained about how much new clothes cost. And his dad?
He would just give him that heavy, disappointed look that hurt more than any punishment. Mike had promised to take Lily and Grace to the town’s ice cream parlor, a special first-day-of-school treat. Caleb hadn’t been explicitly invited, but a small part of him had hoped he might get to go too. The torn jacket extinguished that tiny flame of hope.
Why did his dad love his sisters so much more? Lily and Grace got piggyback rides, trips to the lake for swimming, and even driving lessons in the F-150 in an empty parking lot. Caleb got nothing. No hugs, no words of praise, just a rare pat on the shoulder accompanied by a gruff, “You’re a boy, you don’t need all that coddling.” But Caleb did need it. He craved it more than anything. He yearned to feel his father’s hand ruffle his hair, to hear the words “good job” directed at him just once. He decided then and there that he would earn it. He would get perfect grades, he would be the best student in his class. Then, maybe, his dad would finally see him. But the ruined jacket felt like a disastrous start.
At a bus stop a few blocks from the school, Caleb saw a regional transit bus idling, its doors gaping open. On a pure, unthinking impulse, he climbed aboard and slid into a seat near the back. He just wanted to escape—from Brenda’s inevitable anger, from his father’s cold indifference, from the stinging feeling of being unwanted. The bus rumbled through Harmony Ridge, past the familiar landmarks of his small world. Strangers got on and off, their faces a meaningless blur. Caleb stared at his own pale, small reflection in the window. When the bus reached its final destination, the driver, a large man with a kind, weathered face, called back to him.
— “End of the line, son. This is it. Where are you headed?”
— “Here,” Caleb mumbled, quickly slipping past the driver and off the bus.
He found himself in a cracked asphalt lot on the far edge of town. Beyond a row of neglected-looking houses, the vast expanse of the Bridger National Forest rose up, its tall pines looking dark and mysterious. A surge of defiant anger coursed through him. If they didn’t want him, then he would just leave.
“I’ll live in the forest,” he thought, fiercely kicking a loose piece of gravel. “I’ll build a shelter and catch fish from the creek. Dad can take the girls for all the ice cream they want. I don’t need them anyway.”
Meanwhile, Mike was at his shop, his arms submerged to the elbows in the greasy guts of a Chevy Silverado.
— “Alright, boys, let’s wrap it up for the day,” he called out to his two young mechanics. “The kids should be home by now. I promised Lily and Grace we’d go to The Sweet Scoop.”
He wiped his hands on an already-filthy rag, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. The shop was finally turning a decent profit, with a steady stream of customers keeping them busy. He headed for home, deciding on the drive that he would take Caleb along for ice cream too. It was the boy’s first day of school, after all. He deserved a treat. Mike knew he had been too hard on Caleb, that his own unresolved pain had poisoned their relationship. Maybe today could be the start of something better.
When he got to the house, Lily and Grace came thundering down the stairs to greet him, their backpacks dropping to the floor.
— “Daddy, are we going to The Sweet Scoop? Can I get a banana split?” Lily asked, practically vibrating with excitement.
— “And can we go to the arcade next door after?” Grace added, clutching her stuffed dragon.
— “You sure can,” Mike chuckled. “Go wash up. Where’s your brother? He’s coming with us.”
Brenda, who had been hovering in the kitchen doorway, suddenly went rigid. Her eyes darted around nervously.
— “Caleb? You’re taking Caleb? You didn’t mention that. I’ll… I’ll go see if he’s in his room.”
— “See if he’s in his room?” Mike’s smile evaporated. “Where else would he be?”
Brenda began nervously twisting a dish towel in her hands.
— “He’s not… he’s not home from school yet.”
— “What the hell do you mean he’s not home?” Mike’s voice rose, sharp with alarm. “You were supposed to walk him there and pick him up! It was his first damn day of school!”
— “It’s only a few blocks,” she said, her tone defensive. “He knows the way. I had to run to the grocery store.”
— “It was a half-day for an assembly!” Mike roared. “He should have been home hours ago. Go find him. Now!”
Brenda scrambled out the door, but a cold dread was already coiling in Mike’s stomach. He sent the girls upstairs to their rooms and immediately called the school. Mrs. Gable confirmed that Caleb had left with the other students right after the assembly. No one had seen him since. As dusk began to fall with no sign of his son, Mike drove to the Harmony Ridge Sheriff’s Department and filed a missing person report. He didn’t sleep a wink that night, pacing the length of his living room, the guilt gnawing at him like a wild animal. He should have been there for Caleb’s first day. He should have shown his son that he mattered. His own coldness had driven the boy away.
The next morning, Mike closed the shop and organized his mechanics into a search party. They scoured the town, checking every alleyway, playground, and the banks of the creek. Nothing. Soon, other volunteers from the town joined in, plastering flyers with Caleb’s picture on every telephone pole and shop window. The small community wrapped its arms around the family, with neighbors dropping off coffee and food for the searchers.
Around noon, a crucial tip came in: a bus driver remembered dropping off a small boy who matched Caleb’s description at the edge of the national forest. Mike’s heart hammered against his ribs as the search immediately shifted its focus to the dense woods. The people of Harmony Ridge, from the cook at the diner to the high school football coach, fanned out into the trees, their calls of «Caleb!» echoing through the forest.
On the third day of the search, Mike was operating on pure adrenaline and caffeine, his eyes red-rimmed and raw. He made a quick trip home for more water and found his sister, Megan, sitting in the living room with Brenda. Megan, looking impossibly chic in a tailored blazer despite having taken the red-eye from Seattle, jumped up and threw her arms around him.
— “I came as soon as I heard,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Is there any news?”
— “We think he’s in the forest,” Mike replied, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “We’re heading back out. You want to help?”
— “You’re damn right I do,” Megan said, grabbing her jacket.
— “Brenda?” Mike asked, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
— “I should stay here with the girls,” she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.
Mike just nodded, not surprised in the least. He and Megan drove toward the forest, where dozens of volunteers were gathering with flashlights as evening approached. In the truck, Megan picked up one of the search flyers from the dashboard and let out a sudden gasp.
— “Mike, oh my God. Caleb is the absolute spitting image of Grandpa Sully! And this teardrop birthmark on his cheek—it’s identical. I guess it skipped a couple of generations, huh?”
Mike slammed on the brakes, the F-150 lurching to a halt in the middle of the road.
— “What did you just say?”
Megan stared at him, bewildered by his reaction.
— “Grandpa Sully, Dad’s father who was killed in Korea. Blond hair, blue eyes, and the exact same birthmark on his left cheek. You’ve seen the old family photo album, haven’t you? Caleb is his twin.”
A terrible, earth-shattering realization crashed over Mike. He yanked the steering wheel, spinning the truck around with a screech of tires, and floored it back toward the house. He burst through the front door and pinned Brenda with a glare so intense it made her physically recoil.
