That afternoon, Ian stopped by. He came into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He had an odd expression on his face.

“I met your son.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. I laughed.

“Really,” he said. “I met Jasper.” He was smiling with his mouth wide open, like a silent laugh. He had a manic look in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” A feeling of nausea made its way from my stomach to my throat.

Ian stood and paced back and forth across the living room. “My college roommate was in town. He invited me over to his cousin Robert’s place for brunch. Robert’s son is Jasper. Jasper’s mother is Alexis.”

My mind raced for a way out of this situation. I was doing my best to control my breath. “It’s a funny coincidence,” I said, “that the child’s name is Jasper. But my son is in California.” Long, slow inhalations and exhalations. I needed to appear unfazed by his story.

“You’ve shown me more than ten pictures of Jasper. I saw one of those pictures in their apartment.” He looked around my apartment. On an end table, he spotted a framed photo of Jasper at his birthday party, blowing the candles out on his cake. He picked it up. “I saw the exact same photo on their bookshelf. Same kid, same T-shirt, same cake with a picture of a dog on top. They hired you as their family photographer.” He waved the photo in the air. “You know, I memorized Jasper’s face because I cared about you, and I imagined, one day, maybe I’d take the kid to ball games. Maybe I’d help him with his homework.” He smiled again with the same manic look.

“My son is in California.” I kept my voice low and calm.

Ian’s smile disappeared and his face turned dark. “For Christ’s sake, have you ever told me the truth about anything? Who are you?”

“Shhh.” I was worried that the Straubs would overhear him.

He pointed upstairs. “Tell them the truth.”

I sat down next to him on the sofa, analyzing the various ways in which I might be able to neutralize the situation.

I took his hand in mine and closed my eyes. “I do have a son.” Tears spilled down my face. “His father took him to California when he was six months old, and I haven’t seen him since.” My whole body shook with heaving sobs. “I don’t know if he’s safe. I don’t know if my little boy is OK. When I met Jasper at his birthday party, he looked like I imagined my son might look. It was comforting to me, just to tell myself that someone was looking after him.” I folded onto Ian’s shoulder. He pushed me back and stood up.