Page 15

Davey sat on a rock near the edge of the trees, staring up at the sky.

In his lap, he held a folded photograph, one he’d found years ago in a drawer.

His mother and a man with brown eyes and a gentle smile, holding a baby.

Was that him? He didn’t remember. He wanted to ask.

He needed to ask. But not yet. Not today.

He folded the photo again and tucked it back into his coat.

Someday soon. Standing, he made his way to the lodge and the welcome aroma of coffee.

Minutes later he stepped in from the back door, cheeks flushed from the morning air. He carried two crates of donated trail guides, his steps careful but purposeful.

“You’re early,” Olivia said, raising an eyebrow. “Planning to take over my job today?”

He grinned, setting the boxes down. “Figured I’d get a head start before the volunteers show up.”

She smiled at him, a real smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I like this version of you.”

He shrugged, brushing a twig from his jacket. “Just doing what I can.”

They moved side by side for a while, folding and stacking brochures, clipping signposts together, sorting donation forms. Every now and then Olivia would glance at her him, a flicker of something soft crossing her face.

He hoped he was showing her he’d changed and that someday he’d become someone she admired and found dependable.

But what his mom didn’t see, what she couldn’t know, was that the distance that was healing between them was also deepening in a different direction because he knew she was keeping a secret.

Who was his father, really? The man in the photo didn’t look cruel. There was love in the way he held the baby, something wistful in his eyes. But Olivia never spoke of the man in the photo in detail. Only in vague, gentle phrases that left more gaps than they filled.

And now, with the sanctuary fighting for its future and his mother regaining her strength, Davey couldn’t bring himself to ask. So instead, he worked harder. He stood closer, smiled wider, folded one more brochure than needed.

But still, Davey couldn’t quiet the voice in his head.

That afternoon, when the last volunteer had left and Olivia went to rest in her room, Davey quietly slipped into the office.

He closed the door gently behind him and opened the old filing cabinet in the corner.

The drawers groaned as he pulled them out, careful not to make too much noise.

It wasn’t snooping, he told himself. It was searching.

For answers. For something to tether him to a name, a moment, a truth that didn’t vanish with firelight and sentiment.

He flipped through old employee records, financial statements, sanctuary permits. Then, tucked in the back of a thick folder labeled “Private,” he found a bundle of documents clipped together. Among them was a faded envelope addressed in a hand he didn’t recognize.

He opened it slowly. Inside was a letter. Dated twenty years ago. Short. Formal. Apologetic.

Olivia,

I’m sorry. I tried but I can’t stay. This place is everything to you, but it’s not for me. I don’t fit in here. I don’t know how to be a father. I don’t know how to be the man you both need. I wish I was.

Please forgive me and be happy, both of you.

C.

That was it. No return address. No full name. No photograph. Just an initial. Davey stared at the page for a long time, anger and sorrow mixing like oil and water in his gut. He folded the letter and slipped it into his back pocket and replaced everything as it was .

Outside, laughter filtered through the window.

Natalie and Mason’s voices, low and close, almost musical.

He turned his head just slightly, watching them through the glass.

They were sitting on the bench near the hummingbird feeders, Mason holding a small tin of screws, Natalie passing him tools as he repaired the warped frame of the enclosure.

Her laugh floated up again, soft and unburdened.

Mason grinned, that rare expression Davey had only recently begun to see.

They belonged with each other. That much was clear.

Not in a showy, performative way. In the way their bodies moved in sync, how their eyes found each other without thinking, they were comfortable.

It made something inside Davey twist. Not out of jealousy, but longing. For something grounded. Something solid. Later that evening, he joined them as they packed away tools and cleaned up the work shed.

“Looks like you two got a lot done,” he said, his voice casual.

Natalie smiled. “Mason does the heavy lifting. I just hand him the right screwdriver and take credit.”

Mason chuckled, giving her a look that made Davey avert his eyes.

“Everything okay, Davey?” Natalie asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been working hard,” Mason said. “Go easy on yourself. You’re not running the place solo.”

Davey shrugged. “Feels like I should be doing more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” Natalie said gently.

He looked between them again. “Can I ask you both something?”

“Of course,” they said in unison.

Davey hesitated, then looked directly at Mason. “Did you always know what kind of man you wanted to be?”

Mason blinked. “No. Not even close. ”

Davey nodded. “That makes me feel better.”

And he smiled, but inside he still carried the weight of that folded letter.

He was unraveling one thread at a time, determined to know the shape of the person whose ghost still looked back in his reflection.

He would keep looking. Quietly. Until he found the truth.

Not out of rebellion. But out of need. Out of longing. Out of love.