The doctor opened an old file and pulled out another drawing.
“Before he left,” the doctor added, “he said he wanted to return to an orphanage where he’d spent his childhood. Then we never saw him again.”
Arthur and Clara drove back to São Vicente. The orphanage had closed since their last visit. Ivy crawled up the walls; windows stood broken and dark.
Inside, dust motes spiraled through beams of light. On one cracked wall, someone had drawn with charcoal.
A house. A piano. Two small figures.
Underneath, in careful letters:
“I came back, but no one was here.”
Clara pressed her hands to her mouth. “He came looking for someone to remember him,” she cried. “And found no one.”
Arthur stood in the empty hall, feeling both heartbroken and determined. His brother had spent a lifetime reaching back toward the memory of home.
The Day Two Brothers Met Again
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