But it turned out to be the only difference that mattered, and it made two entirely different men out of two equally frightened ones.

I walked back into the living room and looked down at the boy.

He was four years old.

His mother had died a few hours before, and his father had gotten in his car and driven away before the child even woke up, leaving him alone in a house with a bowl of dry cereal and a note.

“Uncle Wyatt?” Keegan said again.

“When’s my daddy coming back?”