Chapter 2: The Woman at the Gate
She pulled out a folded photograph.
Old.
Creased down the middle like it had been opened and closed a thousand times.
In it, a young woman stood laughing in a garden — the same woman from the wallet.
But this time, she wasn't alone.
She was holding a baby.
And standing beside her, arm around her shoulder, was the man in the blue suit.
Younger.
But unmistakably him.
His legs gave way.
He dropped to one knee on the path, one hand pressed flat against the asphalt to stop himself from falling completely.
"Where did you get this?" he breathed.
"My mom keeps it under her mattress," the girl said.
"She cries when she looks at it.
She thinks I don't know."
He stared at the photo for a long time without speaking.
"What's your mother's name?" he finally asked, his voice barely holding together.
The girl hesitated.
Then she said a name.
The man went completely still.
"That's not possible," he whispered.
"She d\*ed.
I was told she d\*ed."
The girl took one small step back.
"She's not d\*ad," she said quietly.
"She's waiting for me at the park gate right now."
The man's head snapped up.
His eyes went straight to the gate at the far end of the path — where a woman in a grey coat had just stopped walking.
May you like
😶
She was staring directly at him.
