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... s heavy oak desk, but the words on the page barely registered. Lately, he couldn't focus on anything. Something was missing.

No. Not something. Someone.

Leaning back in his leather chair, he shut his eyes, exhaling slowly. That boy—Jeffrey. His Jeffrey. He had loved him dearly, raised him as his own. And once, Jeffrey had stayed close, always within reach. Until Philip let his anger drive them apart.

For years, he had refused to check on him, waiting for the boy's stubbor ...

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