Miguel, still trying to gather himself from the whirlwind of emotions, knelt beside the child.
"This is— I don't know who he is!" he replied, genuine wonder mixed with concern. The child, undeterred by the pain, looked up at Miguel with innocent eyes.
"Miguel dear, tell me the truth, is this not your child?" Old Patriarch Reynolds asked, his voice steady yet filled with urgency.
Miguel's heart raced as he tilted his head in shock.
"Grandpa, I don't have a child! Who this kid is, I have no idea!" He was bewildered, feeling the weight of his grandfather's gaze bearing down upon him like a heavy mantle.
But when the old patriarch looked closer, he found that the child, dressed in tattered clothes, he bore an unmistakable resemblance to Miguel.
The boy's dark eyes sparkled with the same bravado that once thrived within Miguel himself at a young age. It was as if the boy carried echoes of Miguel's childhood.
