While Cleaning A Wealthy Man’s Penthouse I Recognized A Face From My Past

of an old wound. “My name is Michael McGrath. And that boy is my son. He was taken from us eighteen years ago. I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

The room tilted. “Taken?”

“July fifteenth, 2006. We were at a playground in Central Park. I turned away for thirty seconds to answer my phone. When I looked back, he was gone.” He stared up at the portrait.continue reading …