I was having lunch in a quiet cafe near the hospital when I noticed the waitress staring at me. I wouldn’t be more than twenty-one. Dark hair collected in a pigtail. Nerve hands clinging to your notebook.
When he approached, I felt a knot in my stomach.
“Mrs. Collins?” she asked softly.
“Yes?”
His lips trembled. “My name is…
I knew it.
Somehow, even before I said it, I knew it.
“You are my past,” I interrupted her sharply, with the colder voice than I intended. My heart was beating so loudly that I could barely hear myself. I don’t want you in my life. I’m very busy right now. I don’t have time for this.
His face did not contract with anger. It didn’t harden.
He just smiled, a small, sad smile that broke my soul.
“I understand,” he whispered.
And he left. I sat there shaking, telling myself that I had done the right thing. I had protected myself family. My kids didn’t need confusion. Daniel didn’t need any complications. The past had no place in our carefully constructed present.
The next morning, my phone rang while folding my clothes.
It was Daniel.
His voice was strange: tense, urgent.
“I knew your daughter,” he said.
