Noah did not sleep.

He sat on the living-room floor with his back against the sofa, watching Lucas.

His son was asleep on the opposite couch.

At least, he looked asleep.

Noah kept checking his chest.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Every time Lucas breathed, Noah felt a little calmer.

But there was one thing he could not stop thinking about.

The photograph.

The baby with black eyes.

The boy outside the window.

And the words he had spoken.

Give me my father.

Noah had spent twenty years believing he had only one child.

Lucas.

His only son.

His only reason to keep going after his wife died.

Yet something had just told him that his entire memory was a lie.

At 3:14 a.m., Lucas opened his eyes.

“Dad?”

Noah immediately looked at him.

“I’m here.”

Lucas sat up.

“Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I was watching you.”

Lucas smiled weakly.

“Why?”

“Because I’m scared I’ll wake up and you won’t be here.”

Lucas looked down.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

Noah’s heart tightened.

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true.”

“No.”

“Dad…”

“You’re my son.”

Lucas looked at him.

“Am I?”

Noah stood.

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t I have a shadow?”

Noah had no answer.

Lucas looked toward the floor.

His body cast no shadow.

Not even beneath the lamp.

Noah had spent the entire night pretending not to notice.

Now he couldn’t pretend anymore.

“I don’t know.”

Lucas nodded.

“Neither do I.”

“Tell me everything you remember.”

Lucas closed his eyes.

“I remember the bridge.”

“Six months ago?”

“Yes.”

“You were alone?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you there?”

“I don’t know.”

Noah frowned.

“You called me that night.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

“You sounded frightened.”

Lucas touched his forehead.

“I don’t remember calling you.”

“You said something.”

“What?”

“You said, ‘Dad, don’t come looking for me.’”

Lucas’s eyes widened.

“I said that?”

“Yes.”

“Then what happened?”

“The call ended.”

Lucas stared at his father.

“And you came anyway.”

“Yes.”

“I knew you would.”

Noah felt a chill.

“What do you mean?”

Lucas looked toward the window.

“He told me.”

“Who?”

“My brother.”

---

The next morning, Noah took Lucas to the attic.

He had avoided the attic for years.

There were too many memories there.

Boxes of his wife’s clothes.

Old photographs.

Baby toys.

Letters.

A small wooden crib.

And things Noah couldn’t bear to throw away.

Lucas walked slowly through the room.

“Why have I never been here?”

“You were too young.”

“I was seventeen when I disappeared.”

Noah smiled sadly.

“You’ll always be too young to me.”

Lucas stopped beside a cardboard box.

“What is this?”

“Your mother’s things.”

Lucas opened it.

Inside were photographs.

He picked up one.

His mother was sitting on a hospital bed.

She was smiling.

A newborn baby rested in her arms.

Lucas stared.

“That’s me?”

Noah nodded.

“Yes.”

Lucas turned the photograph over.

There was writing on the back.

Our second miracle.

Lucas looked at his father.

“Second?”

Noah froze.

He took the photograph.

He hadn’t noticed those words before.

His fingers trembled.

“Where did this come from?”

Lucas looked through the box.

“There’s another.”

He pulled out a second photograph.

Noah took it.

His heart stopped.

It showed his wife sitting in the same hospital.

But this time, she was holding a different baby.

The baby had black eyes.

And there was a small dark mark on his forehead.

Noah dropped the photograph.

Lucas picked it up.

“Who is that?”

Noah couldn’t answer.

Lucas looked at the back.

Three words were written there.

Our first son.

Lucas looked at his father.

“You lied.”

“No.”

“You said I was your first.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You knew.”

“Noah.”

His own voice sounded strange to him.

He sat on the floor.

“I don’t remember this.”

Lucas crouched beside him.

“Then someone made you forget.”

Noah looked at his son.

“How do you know?”

Lucas whispered:

“Because he told me.”

---

That afternoon, Noah searched through old documents.

Birth certificates.

Hospital records.

Insurance papers.

Anything that could explain the photograph.

He found nothing.

Lucas watched him.

“Dad.”

“What?”

“Try your old computer.”

“I threw it away.”

“No.”

Lucas pointed toward a cabinet.

“There.”

Noah opened it.

An old laptop sat inside.

He had not touched it in years.

The battery was dead.

After charging it, Noah opened the machine.

The desktop contained hundreds of old files.

One folder was named:

LUCAS — DO NOT OPEN.

Noah stared at it.

Lucas stood behind him.

“Open it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because if someone named it that way, there was a reason.”

Lucas looked at him.

“Maybe that’s why we need to open it.”

Noah clicked.

A single video appeared.

Date:

October 18, 2008.

Noah’s hands began shaking.

“That was before you were born.”

Lucas sat beside him.

“Play it.”

Noah clicked.

The screen showed a younger version of himself.

His wife was beside him.

She was pregnant.

Noah stared at his younger face.

He looked exhausted.

Terrified.

His wife was crying.

The video was clearly recorded inside their old apartment.

Young Noah spoke.

“We can’t keep him.”

His wife answered:

“He’s our son.”

“No.”

“You promised.”

“I know.”

“You promised you’d love him.”

“I do.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

Young Noah looked toward the camera.

His face was pale.

“Because he isn’t alone.”

The video distorted.

The screen went black.

Then returned.

Young Noah was standing alone.

His wife was gone.

A baby cried somewhere off-camera.

Young Noah whispered:

“It’s getting worse.”

A child’s voice answered.

“Father.”

Noah watching the video stopped breathing.

The child spoke again.

“You promised me.”

Young Noah looked terrified.

“I didn’t promise you anything.”

The child’s voice became louder.

“You asked for me.”

Young Noah whispered:

“I wanted my son back.”

Noah paused the video.

Lucas stared at him.

“What did he mean?”

Noah shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“You wanted your son back?”

“I don’t remember.”

Lucas looked at the screen.

“Play it.”

“No.”

“Dad.”

“No.”

“Play it.”

Noah clicked.

The video continued.

Young Noah was crying.

“I lost him.”

The child answered:

“You lost me.”

“No.”

“You chose another.”

“No.”

“You chose Lucas.”

Noah’s heart stopped.

Young Noah shouted:

“Lucas wasn’t supposed to exist!”

Lucas looked at his father.

The room became silent.

Noah stared at the screen.

“I don’t remember saying that.”

The video continued.

Young Noah looked directly into the camera.

“If anyone ever watches this…”

He swallowed.

“Don’t trust the child who comes back.”

The screen went black.

Lucas stood.

“Dad…”

Noah looked at him.

Lucas was crying.

“You knew.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I swear.”

“You said I wasn’t supposed to exist.”

Noah reached for him.

Lucas stepped backward.

“Don’t.”

“Lucas.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“You’re my son.”

Lucas shook his head.

“Then why did you say I shouldn’t exist?”

Noah’s eyes filled with tears.

“Because I don’t remember.”

Lucas stared at him.

“That doesn’t make it better.”

He walked out.

Noah remained alone.

---

That evening, Lucas disappeared again.

Noah searched every room.

“Lucas!”

Nothing.

He checked the backyard.

The garage.

The street.

Then he saw the front door.

It was open.

Rain had started.

Noah ran outside.

A trail of wet footprints led away from the house.

But the footprints were strange.

They began at the front door.

Then stopped.

Noah looked around.

There were no more footprints.

Only darkness.

Then his phone rang.

Unknown number.

Noah answered.

“Hello?”

A child’s voice whispered:

“Come to the bridge.”

Noah froze.

“Who is this?”

“You want your son.”

“Yes.”

“Then come.”

“Where is Lucas?”

A laugh.

“He is remembering.”

“What does that mean?”

“He is remembering who he was before.”

Noah’s heart tightened.

“Who was he?”

The child answered:

“Dead.”

The call ended.

Noah grabbed his jacket.

---

The bridge was exactly as he remembered it.

Old.

Wet.

Surrounded by fog.

Noah stopped his car.

His headlights illuminated the road.

There was nobody there.

Then he saw Lucas.

He was standing on the bridge.

Barefoot.

No jacket.

Rain pouring over him.

“Lucas!”

Lucas turned.

His face was expressionless.

Noah ran toward him.

“Where were you?”

Lucas didn’t answer.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Why did you leave?”

Lucas looked over the railing.

“I wanted to remember.”

“Remember what?”

“The night I died.”

Noah froze.

“You didn’t die.”

Lucas looked at him.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I died six months ago.”

“No.”

“I fell from this bridge.”

“No.”

“I drowned.”

“No.”

“You found my jacket.”

Noah couldn’t speak.

Lucas continued.

“But you never found me.”

“I thought you survived.”

“I didn’t.”

Noah shook his head.

“Then what are you?”

Lucas whispered:

“I don’t know.”

The fog thickened.

A boy appeared behind Lucas.

The same boy from the house.

Black eyes.

No shadow.

He smiled.

Noah stepped forward.

“You.”

The boy nodded.

“You came.”

“Where is my son?”

The boy pointed at Lucas.

“He is not your son.”

Noah looked at Lucas.

Lucas’s eyes filled with tears.

“Dad…”

Noah stepped toward him.

The boy laughed.

“You keep calling him that.”

Noah shouted:

“Because he is my son!”

The boy’s expression became angry.

“No.”

He pointed toward the river.

“Your son is down there.”

Noah looked over the railing.

The river was black.

Then something floated to the surface.

A body.

Noah screamed.

“Lucas!”

The body drifted closer.

It was a boy.

Seventeen years old.

Wearing the same clothes Lucas had worn six months earlier.

Noah stared in horror.

The body had his son’s face.

Lucas beside him whispered:

“That’s me.”

Noah couldn’t breathe.

“No.”

The boy with black eyes stepped closer.

“Now you understand.”

Noah turned.

“Who are you?”

The boy smiled.

“I told you.”

“My brother?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

The boy looked at Lucas.

“Him.”

“No.”

“He took my life.”

“No.”

“He took my father.”

“No.”

“He took my name.”

“No.”

“He took everything.”

Noah stepped between them.

“You are not taking him.”

The boy smiled.

“You already gave him to me.”

Noah froze.

“What?”

The boy whispered:

“You made the promise.”

“I never promised you.”

“You did.”

“When?”

The boy pointed toward the river.

“Before he was born.”

Noah’s memories suddenly returned.

A hospital.

His wife crying.

A doctor shaking his head.

A tiny baby.

Dead.

His first son.

Then Noah kneeling beside the crib.

Begging.

“Please.”

Something standing behind him.

A child.

Not alive.

Not dead.

The child had whispered:

“Do you want another son?”

Young Noah had nodded.

The child had said:

“Then give me his shadow.”

Noah remembered.

His wife had screamed.

“No!”

But Noah had agreed.

He had forgotten.

The memory vanished again.

Noah fell to his knees.

“Oh God…”

Lucas stared at him.

“You remember.”

Noah cried.

“I remember.”

“What did you promise?”

Noah looked at his son.

“I gave your brother your shadow.”

Lucas looked down.

For the first time, he saw something.

A shadow beneath him.

But it was not his.

It belonged to the dead boy in the river.

Lucas whispered:

“That is why I have no shadow.”

The boy smiled.

“Exactly.”

---

The bridge began shaking.

The river rose.

The dead body disappeared beneath the water.

The boy stepped closer.

“You made a bargain.”

Noah stood.

“I want to break it.”

“You cannot.”

“I will.”

“You cannot take back what was given.”

Noah looked at Lucas.

“Then take me instead.”

Lucas shouted:

“No!”

The boy smiled.

“There.”

He pointed at Noah.

“The father.”

Noah understood.

The curse wanted exactly this.

A sacrifice.

His father had made the same mistake.

Noah looked at Lucas.

“I won’t make the same choice.”

The boy frowned.

“What?”

“I won’t give you my life.”

Lucas stared.

Noah continued.

“And I won’t give you his.”

The boy’s face changed.

“Then what will you give?”

Noah looked at the river.

“My regret.”

Silence.

The boy laughed.

“You cannot.”

“I can.”

Noah stepped toward the railing.

“I spent six months wishing my son was alive.”

He looked at Lucas.

“I spent twenty years wishing I could undo my first mistake.”

He looked at the boy.

“I won’t run from it anymore.”

The boy screamed.

The river exploded upward.

Lightning struck the bridge.

Lucas grabbed his father’s hand.

“Dad!”

Noah held him tightly.

“Whatever happens…”

“What?”

“Remember that you are my son.”

Lucas began crying.

The boy screamed again.

The bridge cracked.

A section of the road collapsed.

Noah and Lucas fell.

Lucas grabbed the railing.

Noah caught his arm.

Below them, the black river waited.

The boy stood above them.

“You cannot escape.”

Noah looked up.

“You’re wrong.”

He pulled Lucas upward.

“Because I finally understand.”

“What?”

Noah looked at the boy.

“You never wanted my son.”

The boy froze.

“You wanted me to believe he was yours.”

The boy’s face twisted.

“You wanted me to believe I owed you.”

The wind stopped.

“You wanted me afraid.”

The boy screamed.

But Noah kept talking.

“You don’t own him.”

The boy began fading.

“He was never yours.”

The black water began falling.

Lucas pulled himself onto the bridge.

Noah followed.

The boy screamed one final time.

Then disappeared.

The fog lifted.

The rain stopped.

The bridge became silent.

Lucas looked toward the river.

His body was gone.

The boy was gone.

Everything was gone.

Noah turned toward his son.

Lucas stared at him.

“Dad.”

“Yes?”

“I remember.”

“What?”

“The night I disappeared.”

Noah held his breath.

“I wasn’t taken.”

“What happened?”

Lucas looked toward the place where the boy had stood.

“I followed him.”

“Why?”

“Because he told me you had forgotten me.”

Noah’s heart broke.

“I never forgot you.”

“I know.”

Lucas stepped closer.

“And now I remember something else.”

“What?”

Lucas smiled through his tears.

“You came looking for me.”

Noah hugged him.

“I always would.”

Lucas held him tightly.

For a moment, everything felt normal.

Then Lucas looked down.

Noah followed his gaze.

There was a shadow beneath Lucas’s feet.

His own shadow.

For the first time in six months.

Lucas smiled.

“Dad.”

“Yes?”

“I have a shadow.”

Noah laughed through his tears.

“Yes.”

But then both of them noticed something.

Their shadows were standing side by side.

Lucas’s.

Noah’s.

And between them—

a third shadow.

Small.

Child-sized.

It slowly raised its hand.

Noah froze.

Lucas whispered:

“Dad…”

The third shadow pointed toward the forest.

Then it disappeared.

Noah stared into the darkness.

The curse was not finished.

It had simply lost its first game.

And somewhere beyond the trees, a child who had never truly been born was waiting for his father to remember the final promise.