As soon as I entered the apartment, the familiar scent of lavender and fresh coffee enveloped me. It was like stepping back in time. Every detail of the place—the stacked books, the antique rug, the pale blue curtains—felt like a gentle echo of the life we had shared.
But then I saw her.
On the living room wall, above the small velvet sofa, was a framed photograph. And what I saw in it made my body freeze.
It was a child. A boy with brown eyes, dark hair, and a sweet smile. He was maybe four years old. And he was in Althea’s arms, who smiled at the camera with the same sparkle in his eyes I hadn’t seen in over five years.
But what took my breath away wasn’t the photo itself. It was the subtle, devastating detail—that boy… had my smile.
“Who is he?” I …
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