A millionaire returned to see his son after eight years of separation and was paralyzed by the shock of finding the boy locked in a dark pigsty, curled up, clutching a rotten carrot as if it were his last meal. His ex-wife denied the child was his. Her new husband was as wild as an animal, and the entire neighborhood bowed their heads in silent accomplices. But it took a single action by the father for the entire web of lies to come crashing down.
Why would a child be caged like an animal in his own mother’s house? Who allowed this to happen? And who truly deserves to be seen? A hazy sky hung low over the aging rooftops on the outskirts of Adington, South Carolina. A black pickup truck pulled up alongside a narrow dirt road, its tires still crunching as the gravel scraped the frame. Igenen Colwell turned off the engine, took out the keys, and inhaled deeply through the half-open window.
He hadn’t set foot in that neighborhood in four years. Four years since the court had granted custody to Clarissa, his ex-wife. He still remembered that day vividly, Oven’s little hand touching his shoulder, those confused little eyes looking up at him and asking, “Where are you going, Daddy?” And then the door closing. Now he was back unannounced, not to cause trouble or argue. He just wanted to see his son, Oven, the eight-year-old boy he didn’t know if he’d ever meet.
He didn’t know how tall he’d grown, if his voice had changed, or if he still didn’t remember. Ien opened the trunk and took out a blue gift bag with handles. Inside was an ego building set Oben had loved and a hoodie he’d picked out himself. He rang the doorbell. The door opened almost instantly. Clarissa was there, phone still in hand, lipstick fresh as if freshly applied. Ien, hello, she said. He nodded briefly. Just passing by.
He wanted to see Oven. Clarissa hesitated. A flash of unease crossed her eyes, but she quickly hid it with a polite smile. “Oh, I’m afraid Oben isn’t home; he’s at camp. He won’t be back for a few weeks.” Ien frowned. “Camp in September. It’s some kind of life skills camp. The school organized it,” he explained, suddenly raising an arm as if trying to block her chest, preventing her from seeing the inside of the house. Everything looked the same—the old sofa, the base-colored walls—but something felt off.
Ien was silent for a moment, looked at the gift bag, then looked back at Clarissa. “Could you give it to him?” Clarissa took it, a little confused. “Sure, are you okay?” Before Izen could answer, a male voice sounded from the hallway. “Who is it?” A tall, athletic man appeared dressed in a polo shirt and khaki pants. Dale, Clarissa’s new husband. “Oh,” said Dale, forcing a smile upon seeing Ien. He’s my wife’s husband. Ien didn’t answer. Their gazes met, cold as steel.
“I just came to see Oen,” Ien said in a neutral voice. “Oh, the boy’s at camp. I’m sure Clarissa already told you,” Dale commented, crossing his arms and tilting his head sarcastically. “Have you just remembered you have a son?” Clarissa giggled nervously. “Come on, come on.” Ien stepped back, about to leave, but at that moment, a little girl ran down the hall waving a doll. “Mommy, I want some milk.” Ien froze.
The girl looked to be little over a year old, with curly hair and light skin. But it wasn’t her that stopped him, it was Clarissa’s expression. For a second, panic. “This is Emily,” Clarissa answered quickly. “Our daughter.” Ien nodded, but his eyes scanned the interior again. There was nothing to indicate that Oven had ever lived there. “I won’t keep you any longer,” Ien said firmly. He turned and walked toward his car. His shoes sank a little into the earth and among the roots.
He wasn’t in a hurry, but his heart was beating like a war drum. Something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just the lie about the camp. As he approached the car, a soft voice called out to him from behind a fence. “You’re Oven’s father, aren’t you?” Ien turned around. An elderly woman with silver hair, a slight build, and a cane stood beside a small flower garden. “I’m Mrs. Tonton. I’ve lived next door for six years.” Ien approached.
“Yes, I’m Ien. I overheard your conversation,” she said in a calm voice. “I just thought you should know. Oben is still here. He didn’t go to any camp.” Ien frowned. “What do you mean, he’s here? So why would Clarissa lie?” The woman nodded slowly. “I think I should find him first.” A cold breeze blew by. Izen looked toward the backyard. The old animal shed. He was still under the trees with the rusty iron gate. No one ever came near. “Thank you,” he said to the woman.
“Be careful,” she warned him. Around here, people prefer to keep quiet, but I’ve lived long enough to know when a child needs to be s
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