When he held up the drawing, my world stopped.
It was me.
Not as I was now, but as I had been fifteen years earlier, right down to the small details no stranger could have known. The locket around my neck, the scar above my eyebrow, even the expression I used to carry without realizing it.
My hands started shaking as I stared at the screen.
Because there was no way this could be coincidence.
I woke Mike immediately, forcing him to see what I was seeing, even as doubt tried to push its way in.
What if I was wrong?
What if I was chasing something that didn’t exist?
But for the first time in years, hope felt real again.
And I couldn’t ignore it.
I reached out to him.
Carefully.
Not as a mother.
Not with certainty.
Just with a message that left space for truth.
When he agreed to meet, I didn’t hesitate.
I booked the flight before fear could stop me.
The journey felt unreal.
Every mile brought me closer to something I didn’t fully understand, something that could either heal me or break me all over again. Mike stayed quiet beside me, holding my hand, both of us afraid of what we might find.
But I knew one thing.
I had to know.
When we arrived at the address, everything looked normal.
Too normal.
A quiet neighborhood, a simple house, nothing that suggested the kind of truth I was about to face.
My heart pounded as I knocked on the door.
Three times.
The way Bill used to.
When the door opened, I forgot how to breathe.
The young man standing in front of me wasn’t a stranger.
