Maybe they did.
Then came the photograph. It happened during her 81st birthday, a smaller gathering than usual.
Mrs. Hale and I were sitting together, looking through old photo albums. She turned a page, then froze, only for a second. But I noticed.
The photograph showed two young women standing beside a car. One was Mrs. Hale. The other looked strangely familiar.
Before I could study it properly, Mrs. Hale turned the page.
“Who was that?”
Her smile faded.
“A friend.”
Yet something felt off for the rest of the evening.
Later, someone mentioned an upcoming road trip, and the conversation shifted to driving routes and long hours behind the wheel.
Mrs. Hale fell unusually quiet. The change lasted only a moment, but I noticed it. Then her gaze drifted back toward the album, toward the photograph.
There was something in her expression I couldn’t quite place.
