“Sir, your son gave me this shirt yesterday” — What the boy revealed next shocked the millionaire
The boy tilted his head. «You look like him when you’re sad.»
Ethan clenched his jaw. «You don’t know what you’re talking about.»
«Yes, I do,» Noah said softly. «He said you used to laugh, but you forgot how…»
Footsteps crunched behind them, a woman’s voice calling, «Noah! What did I tell you about wandering off?»
Ethan turned to see her, a young mother with tired eyes and hands still dusted with detergent. She froze at the sight of him, then at the tombstone. «I’m sorry, sir,» she said quickly. «He doesn’t mean any harm. He saw the picture and said the boy looked familiar.»
Ethan’s voice came out low. «Familiar?»
«Yes,» she said, confused. «He said he saw him in a dream last night.»
Ethan felt the world tilt. «A dream.»
The woman nodded uneasily. «He kept saying the boy told him to come here. I didn’t think he’d actually run off.»
Noah tugged at her sleeve. «Mom, this is his dad.»
The woman’s eyes softened. «Oh.» She glanced at the gravestone, realization dawning. «I’m sorry for your loss.»
Ethan stared at them both, words tangled in his throat. Noah looked back at him one more time. «He said I could keep the shirt, sir, but he also said, ‘It’s yours if you want it back.'»
Ethan’s jaw tightened, eyes burning. He shook his head slowly. «Keep it, kid.»
The boy smiled faintly, the same small, crooked smile Liam used to give when he’d done something brave. And as they turned to leave, Ethan whispered to himself, barely audible, «Where did that box come from?»
Ethan stood frozen long after the boy and his mother walked away. The wind tugged at his suit jacket, but he didn’t feel it. His gaze was locked on that striped shirt, the one vanishing down the path, bright against the gray of the cemetery.
When his driver finally approached, Ethan muttered, «Find out about that church. The one by the laundromat near the river.»
«Yes, sir.»
He didn’t explain why. He couldn’t. His chest hurt in a way he hadn’t felt since the day they’d buried Liam.
The next morning he drove himself there, no chauffeur, no shield. The old stone church leaned against the clouds like it was tired of standing. Outside, a few volunteers were sorting donated clothes from cardboard boxes.
«Excuse me,» Ethan called, his voice rough. «Where do these come from?»
One woman turned. «Mostly from community drop-offs, sir. Family’s clearing storage, or…» She stopped, recognizing him. «Oh, Mr. Cole, the box we got last week came from your old estate, I think. Someone from your staff donated it months ago.»
Ethan’s throat tightened. «My son’s things?»
She hesitated, reading his face. «I believe so. Children’s clothes, some toys. Beautiful items, really.»
He turned away, swallowing hard. The pieces started to fit: the church, the box, the shirt. Still, something didn’t let him breathe easy. That boy, the way he spoke, the details no one could have known. The laugh, the «smiling boy,» the promise to tell his father he was okay.
Ethan walked toward the back of the churchyard where the boxes were kept. The smell of dust and old cloth filled the air. One small wooden crate sat half-open, with a few toys left inside: a model car, a paper rocket, and a photo.
He picked up the photo. It was Liam, holding that same toy car, his grin wide and pure. On the back, written in faded marker, were words Ethan had scribbled years ago. «Never stop smiling, kid. Even when I’m too busy to.»
He clenched the photo until his knuckles whitened. His voice cracked out loud. «God, I’m sorry.»
Later that afternoon, he found the woman and her son at the laundromat. They were folding clothes under the humming machines. The smell of detergent, warm air, and small life filled the narrow room.
The mother turned quickly. «Mr. Cole.»
He nodded awkwardly. «I wanted to thank you. For yesterday.»
She frowned, unsure how to respond. «You don’t need to thank us, sir. My boy sometimes says strange things. He didn’t mean to upset you.»
Ethan’s voice softened. «He didn’t upset me. He reminded me.»
Noah peeked out from behind the counter, clutching a toy truck. «Hi, sir.»
Ethan knelt. «Hey, buddy.»
The boy smiled shyly. «Did you find the box?»
Ethan hesitated, then nodded. «Yeah. It used to be mine. Or my son’s.»
Noah touched the striped shirt gently. «He said you’d come.»
Ethan exhaled, his voice trembling. «He said that, huh?»
The boy nodded. «He said you’d be sad, but you’d know now.»
Ethan looked at the mother, tears gathering in his eyes. «How does he know these things?»
