My son, Barry, died when he was only eleven years old.
That kind of pain never really goes away.
After that, I never had any more children. I was too afraid.
Maybe it was the memories of Barry that made me do what I did.
I was going through resumes for a janitor position at my store when I saw HIM.
It was the resume of a 26-year-old man. His application had a seven-year gap in his work history.
He had been in prison.
His name was Barry, too, just like my son’s. But that wasn’t what caught my attention.
It was his photo.
I could have sworn he looked like my son would have looked if he were alive today.
I called Barry in for an interview.
"I made mistakes; I paid for them. I just want a chance to prove I’m not that person anymore," he told me.
He looked so much like my son that it felt like I was sitting across from him.
When I hired him, my wife was furious.
"WHY WOULD YOU HIRE AN EX-CON?! What if he robs us?"
But Barry never gave me a single reason to doubt him.
He always showed up fifteen minutes early. He did everything perfectly. He was polite and decent.
Before I even realized it, we had started growing close.
He came over for dinner. Sometimes even for the weekend.
I could see that my wife was angry about it.
But I didn’t pay attention.
I finally had the chance to spend time with a son again, even if I wasn’t his biological father.
One evening, Barry came over for dinner.
When he suddenly dropped his fork, my wife suddenly shouted:
"HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP LYING? When are you finally going to tell him the truth?!"
"Honey, enough," I said.
"NO, NOT ENOUGH! How dare you lie to my husband and not tell him WHAT YOU DID TO HIS REAL SON?"
My heart stopped.
Barry had a STRANGE expression on his face, not looking at me.
"Barry, what is she talking about?" I asked.
He finally looked up at me.
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