Mr. Bear
On a quiet street like ours, I used to believe that nothing really horrible could occur. The type of neighbors who waved even if they didn’t like you, had hedges trimmed, and mailboxes shaped like birdhouses.
Back then, our lives seemed… normal. secure.
Timmy, my Junebug, would sit at the kitchen table every morning with his feet hanging over the floor, smearing peanut butter on toast and humming off-key.
On a quiet street like ours, I used to believe that nothing really horrible could occur.
His hair always turned gold when the sunlight struck it through the drapes. With that lopsided smile, he would gaze up at me and say,
“May I take Mr. Bear today, Mom?”
His entire universe revolved around Mr. Bear. The plush bear was unkempt, with one floppy ear and a small stitched ladybug with the letter J on its wing behind it.
His entire universe revolved around Mr. Bear.
One night when my Junebug became ill and was unable to sleep, I sewed it myself. He had been so proud when I showed him, I recall.
He remarked, “Now Mr. Bear is just like me.”
That morning, my husband, Ethan, had already put on his uniform and finished his coffee before starting yet another lengthy shift at the station. He was the type of man who could make any problem seem manageable because he had been with the police for almost twelve years.
People had faith in him. I did, too.
That morning, my husband, Ethan, was already in uniform.
He had murmured absently as he browsed through his phone, “The department is cutting overtime again.”
As I packed Timmy’s lunch, I nodded while only partially listening. Timmy, meantime, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after finishing his toast and reached up to seize Mr. Bear.
“Please don’t lose him.” As I straightened his jacket, I spoke.
“I never do.”
His final words to me were those.
Out into the yard he ran. I recall thinking that I would follow in a moment because I only needed to clean the table and rinse the dishes.
After ten minutes, I took a peek outdoors. The gate stood open. There was nobody in the yard.
“Junebug?”
He enjoyed that game, so at first I believed he was hiding. I called his name as I rushed behind the shed and around the yard. Nothing. When my mother stepped outside, her face turned pale.
He enjoyed that game, so at first I believed he was hiding.
“Give Ethan a call,” she muttered.
Everything seemed to be moving slowly when the officers showed up. My spouse stood motionless in the doorway.
“Remain composed,” he stated bluntly. “We’ll take care of it.”
Nights merged with days. I never touched search teams, news broadcasts, posters, or neighbors delivering casseroles. I covered every available lead—circles, strings, notes, and photographs—on the kitchen wall.
Nights merged with days.
Sue, my dearest friend, stated, “You need to rest.”
I informed her, “I’ll sleep once I know where he is.”
I would hear my hubby pacing at night. His voice broke the next morning.
“Lila, I can’t do this anymore. This is suffocating me.”
I looked over at him. “He is our son.”
I would hear my hubby pacing at night.
“The case is being closed. Nothing is left to discover.”
He went to the closet and removed his bag. I didn’t stop him. I simply pushed my hand on the chilly photo-covered wall and muttered,
Junebug, I’ll locate you. I swear.
Five years had passed before that very moment.
“The case is being closed.”
Nothing is left to discover.
I noticed something on the road that morning on a peaceful street close to my house.
A ladybug sewed behind the ear of a little, filthy plush bear.
Before I ever touched it, my fingertips became icy.
Mr. Bear had arrived at his house.
On the road, I noticed something lying.
After Five Years
Except for grief, everything changed in five years. Like dust in the nooks and crannies of an old house, it simply settles deeper. I believed I had adapted to it. I had a part-time job from home.
But every carefully constructed wall inside of me broke down once more when I saw Mr. Bear lying on the road that morning. After picking him up and wiping the dirt away, I gazed at the small ladybug that was sewn behind his ear.
I traced the thread I had woven years before with my fingers.
After picking him up and wiping the dirt off,
He gazed at the small ladybug that was sewn behind his ear.
I took a look around. There was silence on the street. I began to walk without even noticing. One home, then another.
I looked at open windows and peered through low fences into backyards. I used to see children’s bikes leaning against walls and toys strewn all over lawns every day, but for some reason I stopped noticing them.
I realized then that I hadn’t actually looked at anything for years. I had been stuck in my own frozen time capsule while everyone else was alive.
I began to walk without even noticing.
One home, then another.
As I passed Mrs. May’s house, she was pruning her roses.
She whispered, “Oh, Lila, it’s been a long time.” You appear… better.
“Just going for a stroll.”
She nodded, but without asking, her gaze shifted to the bear in my palm.
A man I didn’t know nodded courteously from a few homes down. As soon as I glanced in her direction, a woman closed her curtains. The mother who lost her boy used to follow me in whispers.
I used to be followed by whispers:
The woman whose son was lost.
Then I noticed it. An old navy-blue pickup truck was parked in a driveway across the street. my husband’s car, the same one. The left door has the same half-moon-shaped damage.
I believed my heart had stopped for a moment.
No, it is not possible. He had relocated. He was gone.
However, the license plate… I was able to recall the final three numbers. 217. There they were.
Then I noticed it.
I remained motionless until the house’s front door opened. And there he was.
“Ethan?”
“Lila. Why are you here?”
“I live a couple blocks away. You are aware of that. I was simply strolling.”
He glanced across at Mr. Bear. “What is that?”
“Lila. Why are you here?”
“You’re not familiar with him?” I moved in closer. It’s Timmy’s bear. I discovered it right down the street on the road.
“Don’t start this again, Lilia.”
“What should I start?”
“Ghosts are appearing to you. You’ve known them for many years.”
So why have you come here? Why this particular neighborhood?
“Ghosts are appearing to you.”
You’ve known them for many years.
He rubbed his forehead and moaned. “Because things have to change. I was unable to continue drowning in the past. Okay, I met someone. Claire is her name. We have a son.”
I felt the words cut through me. Before I could say anything, I heard footsteps and then a boy’s voice coming from within.
“May I go outside, Dad?”
The door swung open. A boy, perhaps eight years old, entered the porch. He had eyes the color of summer storms, dark hair, and a freckle on his chin. I caught his attention.
A boy, perhaps eight years old, entered the porch.
“Who is that?” he said quietly.
My throat shut. It was Timmy’s voice and freckle. However, Timmy had blond hair.
Every muscle in my body, meanwhile, cried out that it was him.
With a quick motion, Ethan touched the boy’s shoulder.
“Return inside, friend!”
“But, Dad—”
“Now.”
Every muscle in my body, meanwhile, cried out that it was him.
The boy paused and gave me another look before vanishing through the door. Ethan turned to face me, his voice short and his face suddenly taut.
“Lila, don’t return here. Please. You’ll only make things more difficult for everyone.”
“Ethan! What is the age of that boy—eight? Nine? Timmy’s age would have remained constant. Did you—?”
“Have a romantic relationship? Indeed, Lila! Isn’t that what you want to hear?” I went on. Another person I met
“Lila, don’t return here.”
My throat ached. “You—what?”
“You were no longer present. You were engrossed in your theories, your crimson strings, your maps, and your passion. I needed someone who was able to breathe and who didn’t constantly drown me in guilt.”
I gazed at him. The language was nonsensical. “So you were—” I said, “tearing this town apart in search of our son.”
“I was attempting to stay alive. Do you believe that the only one who suffered was you?”
I said to myself in a whisper, “That boy looks exactly like him, Ethan.”
“Ethan, that boy looks exactly like him.”
“Enough! You’re dreaming once more. Return home.”
His hand shook on the doorknob as he began to close the door. His gaze shifted from me to the corridor where the youngster had been standing. Guilt flashed there for a heartbeat, raw, frightened guilt.
“Has his hair been dyed?” I muttered.
“You’re crazy!” After a moment of inaction, Ethan slammed the door.
“Has his hair been dyed?”
Mr. Bear was on my chest as I stood there, my breath hazy in the twilight air.
Then it dawned on me. Ethan hadn’t relocated to make a fresh start. He had remained undetected. As a police officer, he was skilled at burying evidence, closing cases, and portraying mothers as unstable.
On the day he vanished, he had abducted Timmy. possibly enrolled him in a different school in the next district and dyed his hair. And he dropped his guard when he saw that I was too broken to continue looking and that I never left my house.
Then it dawned on me.
Ethan hadn’t relocated to make a fresh start.
Right up until that day.
A tiny shadow passed over the curtain as I turned to face the window again.
I had a live Junebug. And I needed to demonstrate it.
Hello, Junebug
Mr. Bear was like contraband under my coat as I drove to the station. I could hardly straighten the seatbelt since my hands were shaking so terribly.
I had a live Junebug.
And I needed to demonstrate it.
I entered the lobby. At the front desk, a young officer raised his head.
“May I assist you?”
Regarding a closed matter, I need to see someone. Timmy, my son.
After a moment of hesitation, he picked up a radio. I was in an interview room within an hour. Mark, one of Ethan’s former companions, entered. Since the budget cuts, he had been more reserved, but when he saw me, his expression softened.
“Lila,” he said. “I recall you. I apologize.”
Mark, one of Ethan’s former companions, entered.
“You were acquainted with him. Ethan was someone you knew.”
Mark let out a sigh. We all did. He was strong. He was serving on patrol till last year.
I told him everything. The bear. The truck. In the yard, the boy. My stomach. Ethan’s transformation from uniform to a new man. Mark sat quietly and listened. He leaned back when I was done.
“You mentioned he was employed here?”
“He did.” Twelve years.
Mark sat quietly and listened.
He slit his eyes. “He was fired five years prior.”
“For what purpose?”
“For fabricating proof.” Taking payments. He falsified a statement from a witness in a domestic case. Mark spoke with a bland tone. We believed it to be a singular incident. He lost his job. silently.
The space swam. The closed leads and all the little favors combined to create an unattractive pattern.
“He was fired five years prior.”
“You believe he—”
Mark said, “He had the means to bury things.” “And the information. If you’re correct, Lila, we must move quickly. Where did you see his truck?”
Together, we took a car ride. He did not turn on his radio. The house was quiet, but the neighborhood remained the same, with mailboxes, bushes, and daily life. On the lawn was a sign that read, “For Sale.” It had the card of a realtor pinned on it.
On the lawn was a sign that read, “For Sale.”
After reading the sign, Mark declared, “It’s empty.” “But empty does not imply that nothing took place.”
Taking out his phone, he dialed the number displayed on the sign. Mark had a strategy already.
We had a small team by the evening. Sue was rock-steady as she stood at my shoulder. We waited after parking two homes down. Pretending to be a buyer, Mark called the agent and requested to view the house. Yes, that would attract Ethan.
However, the secret was to call right then and there and entice him to return that evening:
“The listing is having issues. Could you please come and fix it?”
The truck arrived at 9:12 p.m., its headlights cutting through the darkness. My heart was thumping like a warning.
Mark pretended to be a buyer and contacted the realtor.
requesting to view the home.
With the child following, rubbing his eyes, Ethan climbed out.
“Is everything alright?” As he walked over the porch, Ethan mumbled.
At first, he didn’t notice me. His face then turned to stone. He pivoted.
“You shouldn’t be present.”
“Ethan,” Mark said, emerging from the darkness. “Police. Make sure your hands are visible to me.”
“Police. Make sure your hands are visible to me.”
Like worn parchment, Ethan’s face crumpled. He didn’t engage in combat. Terrified, the boy glanced between us. As though to protect him, Ethan moved ahead of him.
“Please. It’s not what it appears to be.”
Mr. Bear was dropped in front of the boy. “Are you familiar with this person?”
After blinking, the boy extended his hand to touch the ladybug.
Mr. Bear was dropped in front of the boy.
“Mr. Bear, my—my Mr.” he said. His lip quivered. Mother stitched the ladybug.
Years of silence were compressed into a single moment by the way he murmured “Mommy.”
“Hello, Junebug,” I muttered.
Ethan trembled. “Avoid—”
Mark then read his rights to him. Officers practiced moving fast. No big confession was made. Only the sound of handcuffs could be heard.
“Hello, Junebug.”
After a few minutes, the station lights dimmed behind us as we drove off, the youngster dozing in the back seat. It smelled like rain on the road.
He wiggled and curled his fingers around my thumb as I gripped his little hand through the material of his jacket.
It would take time to achieve justice. documents. hearings. We were harmed by a man who was aware of the system.
However, I had my son for that instant, in the shadowy silence between homes and news reports. And that was all.
My son was born.
And that was all.
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