The Boy on the Porch
At first, she didn’t understand what she was looking at.
A thin teenage boy. Clothes too big. Face pale. Shoulders slumped. Eyes dark and unreadable beneath tangled hair.
And then her heart crashed against her ribs.
“Oscar…?” she whispered.
The boy lifted his head slowly… and Margot saw it.
The scar under his left eye. The shape of his chin. The same trembling way he bit his lip.
It was him.
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After ten years of believing he was dead, Oscar was standing on their doorstep.
Alive.
But not the same.