The boy vanished from the yard, and eight years later, his father looked under the neighbor’s doghouse and went pale…

Still, as Thomas continued home, the inconsistency nagged at him. It seemed odd to lie about something like that, especially when Thomas had offered help and expertise. But Michael had always been peculiar and withdrawn, especially after his tragedy.

When Thomas got home, light snow was falling again. He quickly unloaded the groceries and found Emily in the kitchen, already prepping for dinner. “You’re back faster than I expected,” she said, taking a bag from his hands.

Thomas nodded. “Traffic was light. Oh, and by the way, I saw Michael at the kennel on my way back.”

“At the kennel?” “I thought he canceled.” “He did,” Thomas replied, setting the remaining bags on the counter. “Said he was meeting friends, but I just saw him pull into the kennel alone.”

Emily paused, unpacking groceries. “That’s odd, but it’s not really our business, is it?” “Maybe he just wanted to check it out on his own first.” “Maybe,” Thomas agreed, though something still felt wrong.

As they put away the groceries, Thomas glanced out the kitchen window and saw Michael’s car pulling into his driveway across the street. Michael got out and opened the trunk, revealing a metal dog crate that appeared to contain a German Shepherd. From a distance and with Michael’s back turned, Thomas couldn’t see the dog clearly but made out the breed’s distinctive coloring.

“He’s back already,” Thomas noted. “With a German Shepherd, looks like.” Emily joined him at the window.

“That was quick. He must’ve hit it off with the dog right away.” “Love at first sight, I guess,” she said, echoing her earlier sentiment.

“But it’s still weird. I was a breeder. I know those deals usually take time with paperwork and all.

He was in and out crazy fast.” They watched as Michael struggled to maneuver the crate through the snowy yard, the dog complicating things with its movements. “He’s having trouble with that,” Thomas observed.

“I’ll go help.” Before Emily could respond, Thomas was already heading for the door. He crossed the street quickly, calling out to Michael as he approached.

“Need a hand with that?” Michael’s head snapped up, his face briefly showing surprise. “No, no, I’ve got it,” he said quickly, his tone sharper than the situation warranted. “See you tonight,” he added, clearly signaling the conversation was over.

Puzzled by the abrupt response, Thomas hesitated. “Alright, if you’re sure.” Michael only nodded, already turning back to the crate and struggling to drag it through the snow.

Thomas returned home, a knot of unease growing in his stomach. Something about Michael’s behavior felt off. But what reason did he have to suspect his neighbor? He’d been nothing but quiet, if distant, all these years.

As he stepped back inside, Emily looked at him questioningly. “He didn’t want help,” Thomas explained, shrugging. “Said he’d handle it himself.”

Emily nodded, returning to dinner prep. “Some people just don’t like accepting help. It makes them feel vulnerable.”

“Guess so,” Thomas agreed, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Michael’s odd behavior stemmed from something more than pride. The hours dragged on as snow continued to fall outside, blanketing Maple Valley in fresh white. Thomas returned to his police documents, finally managing to focus on them.

There was little new information, just the same frustrating lack of concrete leads that had defined their son’s search from the start. One report mentioned a possible sighting in a town 120 miles south, but the description was vague, and follow-up yielded nothing. Another noted a child resembling Caleb enrolled in a school in Burlington under a different name.

But when authorities checked, it was a case of mistaken identity. Thomas rubbed his temples, fighting the headache that always accompanied these reading sessions. Eight years of false hopes and dead ends had taken a toll, but he couldn’t give up.

Somewhere out there, Caleb might still be waiting to be found. By evening, the house filled with the warm, inviting aromas of Emily’s cooking. She’d prepared roasted chicken with vegetables, fresh rolls, and an apple pie for dessert.

It was fancier than their usual dinners, a testament to how much this small social event meant to her. “Think he’ll actually show?” Thomas asked, helping set the table. Emily arranged napkins beside each plate.

“Why wouldn’t he?” “I don’t know. He was acting strange today. All those last-minute plan changes, his reaction when I offered to help with the dog.”

Thomas trailed off, unsure how to articulate his vague suspicions. “He’s probably just nervous about socializing after so long alone,” Emily reasoned. “Let’s give him a chance.”

Right at six, the doorbell rang. Michael stood on the porch, holding a bottle of wine, his coat dusted with snow. “Hope red’s okay,” he said, handing the bottle to Thomas.

“Perfect. Thanks,” Thomas replied, stepping aside to let him in. “Come in, warm up.”

Emily greeted Michael warmly, taking his coat and thanking him for coming. The initial awkwardness of the gathering eased as Emily served drinks, and they sat at the dining table. Conversation stayed light at first—local news, the weather, safe topics that didn’t demand emotional investment…