Before she could form an answer, Mason bolted forward. Breanna reached for him too late. Her voice evaporated in the warm air.
“Mason, wait. Come back.”
He skidded to a halt in front of the boy, whose cardboard box jostled and spilled cheap plastic figurines onto the pavement. The two boys stared at one another as though their bodies remembered a connection their minds could not name.
The stranger spoke first. “Hi. My name is Milo. Do you dream about a place with white halls and big lights too.”
Mason nodded eagerly. “Yes. And there were beeps and humming sounds. And we were in a room together. I think we were babies.”
Breanna approached on trembling legs. Words crowded her throat like birds afraid to fly. She crouched beside them.
“Milo,” she said gently, feeling each syllable like something fragile. “Where are your parents. Who takes care of you.”
A woman nearby dozed on a bench. Her clothing looked as worn as Milo’s. A faded shawl covered her shoulders. Her face, even in rest, held lines etched by exhaustion.
“That is Aunt Delores,” Milo explained, chewing on his thumbnail. “She tries her best. We sell things so we can eat and so she can buy her medicine.”
Breanna felt the plaza tilt around her. For years, she had hidden from that phantom memory of her delivery. Now it stood in front of her, not a ghost at all, but a flesh and blood child with her son’s eyes.
“We need to go,” she whispered.
Mason jerked away from her grasp, tears clouding his gaze. “I am not leaving him. I feel like he belongs with us.”
Breanna could not answer. All she could do was lift Mason in her arms and walk away, her pulse pounding so loudly that she could barely hear Milo call after them.
“Do not forget me.”
The drive home was silent except for Mason’s soft repetitions: “Please go back. Please. He is my brother. I know it.”
At their modest house on the city’s south side, Trevor watered the tomato plants along the fence. He looked up when the car pulled in and smiled, but the smile faltered when he saw Breanna’s expression.
He reached for Mason, who immediately clung to his father’s neck. Mason pleaded, “Dad, please help me find my brother. His name is Milo. He knows me. We were together before I was born. I could feel him.”
Trevor set him down and crouched to meet his gaze. “Buddy, you do not have a brother. But we can talk about your dreams, okay.”