He had already lived in four homes in three years.
The rules changed.
The faces changed.
He didn’t want to become “difficult.”
That night Sarah saw the torn sketchbook in the trash.
“What happened?”
Milo’s throat tightened.
“I dropped it.”
She looked at the clean tears.
“All of it?”
He nodded.
Sarah didn’t believe him.
But she didn’t push.
Two days later, Milo’s art teacher called.
A regional competition wanted to display one of his drawings.
Sarah nearly cried with excitement.
Jake smiled at dinner.
“That’s awesome.”
Milo looked at him.
That smile frightened him.
The competition drawing disappeared the next morning.
Milo searched everywhere.
His backpack.
Desk.
Closet.
Nothing.
Sarah helped.
Jake leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Maybe he lost it.”
“I didn’t.”
