The Johnson family drove along the winding road, the car filled with excited chatter and Mila’s occasional giggles as she wiggled in her booster seat, her eyes wide with excitement.

Mr. Johnson glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Eric’s gaze and offering a warm smile. Eric tried to smile back, but he couldn’t shake the knot of worry in his chest.

He was almost sixteen now, and he understood his place in the family—or at least, he thought he did. The Johnsons had taken him in as their foster child when he was twelve. They’d told him he was family, even though he wasn’t their own child by blood.

For years, they’d treated him with a kindness he’d never known before, showing him what it felt like to be truly cared for. But now, with Mila—their own child—things felt different. Eric wondered if they’d still want him, now that they had a child of their own.

“We’ll stop here at the gas station; you can stretch your legs,” Mr. Johnson said, turning off the engine as they pulled over. Eric felt the cool air hit his face as he stepped out, and he lifted little Mila from her seat, setting her down gently. She clung to his hand, her tiny fingers gripping his tightly as she looked around with curiosity.

Eric’s gaze, however, was drawn to the other side of the road, where an old, weathered diner sign hung, faded and cracked. A strange feeling stirred in his chest as he looked at it, an odd sense of familiarity that he couldn’t place. He reached into his backpack, pulling out a worn photograph—the only thing left from his past, from his real parents.

In the photo, baby Eric stood beside a woman, his biological mother, with a sign in the background just like the one in the gas station.

Mrs. Johnson walked over, noticing Eric staring at something in his hand. “Everything alright?” she asked gently, her voice filled with warmth.

Eric quickly slipped the photo into his pocket, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” he replied, trying to sound casual.

Mr. Johnson called from the car, “Alright, family! Time to hit the road again.”

Eric took one last glance at the diner sign before getting back in the car with Mila and Mrs. Johnson.

After dinner by the campfire, Mrs. Johnson and Mila headed to bed. Mr. Johnson looked over at Eric. “Are you going to bed now?”

Eric shook his head. “I’ll stay up a bit longer.”

Mr. Johnson nodded. “Don’t stay up too late. Big hike tomorrow. You sure you’re okay, kiddo?”

Eric forced a smile. “Yeah, just not tired yet.”

“Alright,” Mr. Johnson said, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading to bed.

Written neatly on the back were the words “Eliza and Eric.” The woman holding him had a faint smile, but he couldn’t remember her at all. Glancing over at the Johnsons’ tent, he felt a pang of guilt. They had always been kind, always treated him with care.

With a sigh, he slipped the photo into his pocket, went to his tent, and picked up his backpack. He checked through its contents—his few belongings, a bottle of water, and the sandwiches Mrs. Johnson had made for him.

She’d even cut the crusts off, remembering how he didn’t like them, just as she had when he first arrived at their home. Small acts like this made him feel seen, but still, he wondered if he truly belonged.

It was pitch dark, and he switched on the flashlight on his phone, remembering how the Johnsons had handed it to him with a smile. “We need to know our kid is safe,” they’d said. If they really thought of him as their own, wouldn’t they have adopted him by now?

He walked along the road, shivering in the night air, his heart pounding with each step. After hours, he finally saw the dim lights of the diner.

Taking a shaky breath, he stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the gloomy interior. At the counter stood an old man, who looked at him with a frown as Eric approached, photo in hand.

The old man behind the counter narrowed his eyes at Eric. “We don’t serve kids here.”

“I don’t want anything to eat. I just have a question.” He pulled the photo from his pocket, unfolding it carefully. “Do you know this woman?”

The man took the photo, peering at it with a frown. “What’s her name?”

“Eliza,” Eric replied, hoping for a sign of recognition.

Eric’s heart pounded as he approached the table. He recognized the woman from the photo—older now, worn down, but definitely her. He cleared his throat. “Eliza, hi,” he said.

She didn’t respond, absorbed in her loud conversation.

Eric tried again, louder this time. “Eliza.”

She turned, finally noticing him. “What do you want, kid?”

“I…I’m your son,” Eric said quietly.

Desperate, he held up the photo again. “It’s me. See? Eliza and Eric,” he said.

“Thought I got rid of you,” she muttered, taking a long drink from a bottle.

Eric’s voice trembled. “I just wanted to meet you.”

Eliza looked him over with a smirk. “Fine. Sit down, then. Maybe you’ll be useful.” Her friends chuckled, and Eric sank awkwardly into a chair, feeling out of place.

After some time, Eliza looked around the diner, glancing toward the counter. “Alright, time to leave. Let’s get out before the old man catches on.”

The group started to stand up, gathering their things. Eric, feeling uneasy, looked at Eliza. “But you haven’t paid,” he said.

Eliza rolled her eyes. “Kid, that’s not how the world works if you want to survive. You’ll learn that,” she replied.

Eric hesitated, reaching into his backpack. He pulled out some cash, ready to leave it on the table, but before he could, Eliza snatched it from his hand and shoved it into her pocket.

As they headed toward the door, the old man behind the counter noticed. “Hey! You didn’t pay!” he shouted angrily.

“Mom!” he called, desperate, hoping she’d turn back.

But Eliza didn’t stop. “I told you—I don’t have any kids!” she shouted over her shoulder, disappearing into the night.

A police car pulled up beside Eric. He stopped, knowing he couldn’t outrun them. The window rolled down, and one of the officers leaned out, squinting at him.

“Hey, isn’t this the kid they mentioned?” the officer asked his partner.

Eric’s heart pounded. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, his voice trembling. “I tried to pay, but she took my money. I can call my parents—they’ll come get me.”

He reached into his pocket, only to find it empty. Panic rose as he realized his phone was gone, too. Tears filled his eyes. “Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t do anything.”

One of the officers got out, placing a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Come on, son.” Gently, he guided Eric into the backseat as Eric’s tears fell silently.

At the police station, Eric expected the worst, but instead, they led him to a small room with a warm cup of tea. Glancing up, his heart skipped when he saw the Johnsons talking with an officer nearby. Mila was in Mr. Johnson’s arms, and Mrs. Johnson looked worried, her eyes darting around the room.

Mr. Johnson approached, holding Mila close. “Eric, why did you run off like that?” he asked.

Eric swallowed, looking down. “I just… I wanted parents of my own. I thought finding my mom would change things, but she… she wasn’t what I thought,” he admitted.

Mrs. Johnson’s face softened as she squeezed his hand. “Eric, it hurts to hear that,” she said gently. “We consider ourselves your parents.”

Eric looked at them. “I thought… maybe you’d want to get rid of me now that you have Mila,” he confessed.

Mrs. Johnson pulled him into another hug, her arms warm and steady. “Parents don’t give up on their children, Eric.”

“You’re as much our child as Mila is,” Mr. Johnson added. “That’s never going to change.”

Eric’s tears fell, his heart finally feeling the love they’d always given. “This whole trip was actually for you,” Mr. Johnson explained. “You wanted to go camping, so we made it a special occasion.”

“A special occasion?” Eric asked, wiping his eyes.

“To tell you that we want you to officially be our son,” Mr. Johnson said with a smile.

“All the paperwork is ready, but only if you want it,” Mrs. Johnson added, her voice soft. Eric didn’t need to answer in words; he hugged them both, realizing he had found his real family.

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