But that woman didn’t belong.
At least, not to me.
When the service ended and people began to leave, I found myself walking toward her before I could stop myself.
Gina noticed.
“Mom—where are you going?”
“Bathroom,” I said evenly.
“I’ll come with you.”
As we passed the last pew, the woman stood.
“Julia?” she called out—too loudly.
Heads turned. Conversations paused mid-sentence.
Gina let go of my hand. “How does she know your name?”
The woman flinched, lowering her voice.
