Trying to Start Over

They bathed him, fed him, wrapped him in blankets. He ate slowly, mechanically—like someone who hadn’t had a warm meal in years.

When they opened the door to his old childhood room—a museum frozen in time—Oscar stared at it blankly, as if it belonged to someone else.

So Evan and Margot drove him to the mall the next day, buying new clothes, shoes, bedding—everything he’d missed during a decade of life stolen from him.

But the mystery only grew.

Oscar flinched at loud noises.
Refused to sleep near windows.
Jerked awake from nightmares.
Kept checking the front and back doors at night.

Someone—or something—had taught him to fear.