The sky was gray.
Not like in my drawings.Not soft. Not full of light.Just… gray.And too big.
I had never seen so much sky.
It made me dizzy.
The wind tore through my shirt.It stung my skin.The world had edges.
Not wooden beams and stuffed tigers.
But houses.
Streets.
People.
I walked barefoot down a narrow lane.
My feet bled on gravel.
But I didn't stop.
I didn't cry.
The pain reminded me I was real.
I passed a mailbox.
Then another.
Each house had windows.
Windows with curtains.
People behind them.
Watching.
But no one opened the door.
No one said anything.
Just stared.
A woman in a red coat finally came outside.
She said, "Oh my God."
Then dropped her groceries.
They scattered across the road.
Oranges rolling like marbles.
She asked my name.
I didn't answer.
She asked again.
"Sweetheart, what's your name?"
I wanted to say "Lucas."
But that wasn't mine anymore.
So I said, "Daniel."
My voice cracked.
She gasped.
Put her hand over her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes.
Then she pulled out her phone.
The police came with flashing lights.
They wrapped me in a blanket.
Asked me questions I couldn't answer.
"What happened?""Where have you been?""Who did this to you?"
I couldn't speak.
My mouth wouldn't move.
They looked at each other like they were solving a puzzle.
But I was the puzzle.
And half the pieces were still in the house.
At the hospital, they took pictures of my back.
Of the bruises.
Of the birthmark.
A man in a suit came in and whispered:
"That's Daniel Reese. He disappeared six years ago."
A woman came later.
She had the same eyes as me.
But older. Broken.
She stared at me like I was a ghost.
Then she whispered:
"Danny?"
Her voice shattered something in me.
She ran forward and hugged me.
Her hands shook.
She smelled like laundry and lemon soap.
She said, "I never stopped looking for you."
I said nothing.
Because I didn't remember her.
Not really.
But when she held me…
I remembered the sound of lullabies.
And someone brushing my hair.
And a warm voice saying "my little sunshine."
And I cried.
For the first time in years.
I cried for the attic.
For Mama.
For Mr. Nibbles.
For every piece of myself that didn't know how to fit anymore.