“Daddy?” But it didn’t sound right. Didn’t feel right. Because the daddy in her dreams wasn’t Elias.
It was someone else. Someone she couldn’t quite picture. She told herself it was just nightmares.
Just her brain being weird. But deep down, she knew better. Something happened to her before Elias found her.
Something bad. And her memory wouldn’t let it go completely. One day in fifth grade, a girl named Amanda brought in old family photos for show and tell.
Pictures of her as a baby. Her parents smiling. Birthday parties.
Christmas mornings. “This is me when I was three,” Amanda said, holding up a photo. “I don’t remember this day, but my mom says it was my first time at the beach.”
Everyone laughed. Shared stories about baby pictures and embarrassing moments they didn’t remember. The teacher looked at Skye.
“Do you have any baby photos, Skye?” The room went quiet. Skye’s stomach dropped. “No,” she said.
“None at all?” “We lost them. When we moved.” Another lie.
Added to the pile. But what else could she say? She had no baby pictures. No early memories that made sense.
No stories about her first steps or first words. Just a red cardigan and a hospital bed and a life that started when she was almost seven. Everything before that was blank, or worse, full of shadows and sounds that didn’t connect to anything real.
After class, Amanda came up to her. “That’s sad, about your photos.” “It’s okay.”
“Do you remember anything from when you were little?” Skye hesitated. “Some things.” “Like what?” “Cold.”
“Trees. Being scared.” “Normal stuff,” Skye said instead.
Amanda smiled and walked away. But the question stuck with Skye for days. What did she remember? She sat in her room that night and tried to push back further, past Elias, past the hospital, past the cracked house.
She closed her eyes and focused. There was warmth once. Someone singing.
Soft hands. A voice that felt safe. Then it changed.
Silence. Cold. A car ride with no music.
Fear sitting in her chest like a stone. Then the forest. Then nothing.
Then Elias. The gap between those moments felt huge. Important.
But when she tried to see it clearly, her head started hurting. Her heart would speed up. Her hands would shake.
So she stopped trying. Some memories didn’t want to be found. Or maybe they were protecting her from something she wasn’t ready to know.
Either way, Skye learned to live with the holes in her past. She remembered everything from the moment Elias carried her into that hospital. But before that? Just shadows.
Just sounds. Just the feeling that someone had left her behind. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember who.
Skye learned to tell how bad things were just by listening. If the phone rang three times during dinner, it meant debt collectors. If Elias answered, his voice would drop low.
Words getting tighter with each sentence. If he didn’t answer, the silence after was worse than any conversation. The fridge made a grinding sound when it tried too hard.
When Skye opened it and saw mostly empty shelves, that sound felt louder somehow. She’d stand there hoping something new would appear. It never did.
Some nights they ate okay. Pasta with sauce. Chicken if Elias got paid that day.
Other nights she’d hear him in the kitchen after she went to bed. Scraping together leftovers. Splitting one portion into two plates.
Giving her the bigger half while pretending he already ate at work. She always knew. She heard everything.
Once the power got shut off. Skye came home from school and the house was dark. No hum from the fridge.
No lights. Elias was already home, sitting at the kitchen table with a candle between them. “Power company made a mistake,” he said.
“They’ll fix it tomorrow.” Skye knew it wasn’t a mistake, but she played along. “This is kinda nice,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Like camping.” “Yeah, like camping.” They ate cold sandwiches by candlelight.
Elias stared at the disconnect notice on the counter. Skye pretended not to see it. The power came back three days later, after Elias worked a double shift and paid whatever he could scrape together.
He never said anything about it. Neither did she. At school, Skye started noticing things.
Other kids had new backpacks every year. New shoes that weren’t falling apart. Lunchboxes with actual food inside, not just whatever was cheapest at the store.
They talked about vacations, birthday parties at fancy places, things their parents bought them just because. Skye had never been on vacation, never had a birthday party. Last year, Elias bought her a cupcake from the gas station and stuck a candle in it.
“Make a wish, kid.” She’d wished they had enough money, that Elias didn’t have to work so hard, that her heart would fix itself. None of it came true.
One day, a girl named Jessica asked her, “Why do you always wear the same jeans?” Skye looked down. The jeans were too short now, frayed at the bottom. “I like them.”
“They’re old, though. So,” Jessica shrugged. “My mom says people who don’t take care of themselves usually have problems at home.”
The word stung more than Skye expected. She wanted to say they didn’t have problems, but that would be lying. She wanted to say it wasn’t about taking care.
It was about not having money. But that felt like admitting something she didn’t want to admit. So she said nothing, just walked away.
By sixth grade, Skye was working every chance she got. Babysitting on weekends, $2 an hour. Helping Mrs. Chen with yard work, she paid in vegetables and sometimes $5.
Tutoring younger kids with homework, whatever their parents could spare. Every crumpled bill went into the jar under her bed. When she had $20 saved, she’d give it to Elias.
“You don’t need to do this,” he’d say every time. “I know,” but she did need to, because watching him break himself apart was worse than being tired. One Saturday, she babysat for six hours, made $12.
On the way home, she passed a store window, saw a jacket on sale, warm, no holes. Elias’s jacket was held together with duct tape. She stood there for ten minutes, staring at it, doing math in her head.
The jacket cost $15. She only had $12. She walked away.
The medication was more important. The rent was more important. Everything was more important than a jacket.
That night, she counted the money in her jar. $32? She heard Elias in the kitchen. On the phone again.
“I understand it’s late. I’m asking for one more week. Please.”
Pause. “I’ve got the medication to pay for. My kid’s sick.”
“She needs—” Pause. “I’m not making excuses. I’m explaining.”
Pause. “Fine, I’ll have it by Monday.” He hung up.
Skye heard him sit down, heard his breathing, uneven, shaky. She grabbed her jar and walked into the kitchen. “Here,” she said, putting the bills on the table.
Elias looked up. His eyes were red. “Skye.”
“No. Take it. You worked hard for this.”
“So did you.” They stared at each other. Then Elias took the money.
Not because he wanted to. Because he had no choice. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Skye went back to her room. She didn’t cry. Crying wouldn’t help.
But she lay in bed thinking about all the sounds poverty made. The phone ringing. The fridge struggling.
Elias’s voice getting quieter each time he asked for more time. Her own footsteps walking past things she wanted but couldn’t have. Poverty wasn’t just about not having money.
It was about the sound of doors closing. Opportunities disappearing. Hope getting smaller.
And no matter how hard they both worked, those sounds never stopped. The first time Skye saw him, she almost dropped the plate she was drying. She was 13 now, working part-time at Joe’s Diner after school, washing dishes, wiping tables, whatever they needed.
The diner’s old TV hung in the corner, picture fuzzy. Sound turned up just enough to hear over the noise of customers. Skye was putting away clean plates when the evening news came on.
“Tonight, tech billionaire Lennox Drayton hosts his annual children’s health gala.” She looked up. The screen showed a man in a black suit.
Tailored. Expensive. His hair was neat, touched with gray at the temples.
He smiled for the cameras, but his eyes stayed cold. Sharp. Skye’s hands stopped moving.
Something in her chest twisted. She knew that face. No, that wasn’t right.
She’d never seen him before. But her body knew him. Her heart started beating faster.
Wrong rhythm. The kind that meant trouble. “Drayton’s foundation has donated over $50 million to children’s hospitals nationwide,” the reporter continued.
“His work has been a lifeline for families struggling with medical expenses.” Families. Medical expenses.
Skye’s grip tightened on the plate. The camera zoomed closer on his face. He was shaking hands with someone.
Smiling that same cold smile. Her vision blurred at the edges. She heard something.
Not from the TV. From inside her head. A voice.
Low. Distant. “Just stay here.”
“I’ll be right back.” Her knees went weak. “Skye,” Joe called from behind the counter.
“You okay? That plate’s not gonna dry itself.” She blinked. The sound in her head stopped.
“Yeah. Sorry.” She forced herself to look away from the TV.
Finished drying the plate. Put it away. But her hands were shaking.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it. That night, lying in bed, she saw his face again. Heard that voice.
It didn’t make sense. She’d never met a billionaire. Never been anywhere near someone like that.
But something connected. Something she couldn’t explain. She got up.
Went to the kitchen where Elias kept his old laptop. The screen had a crack through it, but it still worked. She typed the name into the search bar.
Lennox Drayton. Pages of results flooded the screen. Tech magnate.
Philanthropist. CEO of Draytech Global. Multiple articles about his charity work.
Photos of him at fancy events. Speeches about helping children. Skye scrolled through it all.
Then she found an older article. From 15 years ago. A photo of Lennox standing next to a young black woman.
She was holding a baby wrapped in a red blanket. Skye leaned closer. Her chest got tight again.
Not from her heart condition. From something else.
The blanket. Red. She looked across the room at her cardigan hanging on the chair.
Red. Worn. Patched in places.
The same red. No, that was crazy. Lots of people had red blankets, but she couldn’t shake the feeling.
She clicked on the photo. Tried to read the caption. Most of it was cut off.
“Lennox Drayton with…” The rest was missing. She searched for more photos. More articles about his personal life.
Nothing. Everything was about his business. His charity.
His success. No mention of family. No mention of a wife.
No mention of children. Like his personal life didn’t exist. Or like he’d erased it.
The next morning at breakfast, Skye watched Elias carefully. He sat at the table with his coffee. Looking at his phone.
Same routine as always. “Can I ask you something?” she said. “Sure.”
“Do you know who Lennox Drayton is?” Elias’s hand froze. Just for a second. So fast most people wouldn’t notice.
But Skye noticed everything. “Who?” he said. “Lennox Drayton.”
“The billionaire.” “Never heard of him.” His voice was flat.
Too flat. “He was on the news yesterday. Does charity work for sick kids?” Elias took a sip of coffee.
Didn’t look at her. “Good for him.” “I feel like I’ve seen him before.”
Now Elias looked up. His jaw was tight. “You haven’t.”
“How do you know?” “Because we don’t know people like that, Skye. We’re not in that world.” There was an edge in his voice.
Something sharp. “I just thought…” “You’re wrong.” He stood up.
Grabbed his work jacket. “I gotta go. You need anything before I leave?” “No.”
He walked out without saying goodbye. Skye sat there, staring at his empty coffee cup. He was lying.
She didn’t know how she knew. But she knew. Elias recognized that name.
And it scared him. That night, she searched again. Hours on the laptop….
