Five Years After Losing My Son, a Boy in Pajamas Walked In and Changed Everything (2 of 4)

I was staying with my sister Amy in her small town to help with a home project. While fixing up her kitchen, I noticed a little boy peeking curiously through the back fence. Brown hair, wide eyes—about the age Ethan would be now. I smiled, then glanced at his pajama pants.

My heart stopped.

Angry Birds. Bright red, well-worn. Ethan’s exact pair.

“That’s Liam,” Amy said. “He lives next door. His dad passed away a few years back. Sweet kid.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing those pants. My sister had them custom-made for Ethan’s eighth birthday—there shouldn’t have been another pair like them.

The next day, I went out for a walk and passed their yard again. Liam was kicking a soccer ball. He glanced up and smiled, shy but curious.

“Nice kick,” I said.

“You’re the guy from yesterday,” he replied softly.

I nodded. “That’s me.”

Then he said something I’ll never forget: “You look like someone I dream about.”

I paused. “Who?”