When he was finished, Ethan jumped down and immediately ran toward the door.

“Mom! Can I get a quarter for the candy machine?”

Before I could answer, he was already outside staring at the machine through the glass.

Marcus brushed loose hair off the chair.

Then, without looking directly at me, he said quietly,

“Check behind his left ear.”

I frowned.

“For what?”

A customer had just entered the shop.

Marcus lowered his voice even more.

“When you get home. Somewhere private. Look carefully.”

My stomach tightened.

“Marcus, what did you see?”

He shook his head.

“Not here.”

That was all he would say.

I paid.

Took Ethan home.

And spent the entire drive watching him through the rearview mirror.

He looked completely normal.

He was talking again at full volume, thrilled because the candy machine had apparently given him two gumballs instead of one.

Ten minutes later, we were in our kitchen.

“Hold still,” I said.

Ethan immediately looked worried.

“Did he mess up my haircut?”

“No. I just want to check something.”

I moved the hair behind his left ear.

At first, I saw nothing.

Then I noticed a small flesh-colored patch tucked into the crease behind the ear.

It blended almost perfectly with his skin.

I touched it.

Something hard was underneath.

Every instinct in my body changed at once.

I carefully lifted the edge.

Underneath was a tiny black disc.

Smooth.

Hard.

Barely larger than a grain of rice.

It looked like a tiny piece of black glass.

I had no idea what it was.

But I knew one thing.

It did not belong behind my child’s ear.

“Ethan.”

I forced myself to stay calm.

“Who put this here?”

His whole expression changed.

The bright, talkative boy standing in my kitchen disappeared.

“I don’t know.”

“Ethan. Look at me.”

He stared at the floor.

“Who put it there?”

His voice became tiny.

“Maybe the man from school.”

My blood went cold.

“What man?”

He still wouldn’t look at me.

“The one who knew Dad.”

Everything around me seemed to tilt.

Because Ethan’s father, Ryan, had been dead for three years.

Ryan died when Ethan was six.

It happened quickly.

He became sick in the spring.

By the end of summer, he was gone.

Ethan understood death in the fragmented way six-year-olds do.

He understood his father was gone.

Then, every few months as he grew older, he understood it again in a different way.