The trail led to Santa Barbara.

A small blue house. A garden out front.

Lucas knocked.

A man opened the door.

“Ryan,” Lucas whispered.

The man frowned.

“Do I know you?”

“I’m Lucas. Your brother.”

Ryan stared at the tattoo.

“That’s mine too,” he murmured. “I don’t remember when.”

“You have a son,” Lucas said. “His name is Mason.”

Ryan’s face crumpled.

“I dream about him,” he said. “I thought they weren’t real.”

“They are.”

Ryan sat down, defeated.

“I left because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Waking up with no memories… it was drowning me.”

Lucas placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

A Family Rechosen

They returned together.

Elena came the following week.

When Mason saw Ryan, he smiled.

“You’re the man from my dreams.”

“And you’re the boy from mine.”

“Are you my dad?”

“Yes,” Ryan said softly. “I am.”

“Why did it take so long?”

“Because I was lost,” he said. “But I found my way back.”

Mason hugged Lucas.

“Uncle Lucas is a hero,” he declared.

A year later, Mason drew their family.

All of them with the same tattoo.

“Why?” Lucas asked.

“So we don’t get lost again,” Mason replied.

And Lucas understood.

Sometimes family isn’t rebuilt by remembering the past.

It’s rebuilt by choosing each other—every single day.

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