PART 2
The stranger stopped a few feet away from me.
For one long moment, neither of us spoke.
He was older than my father by several years, though there was something familiar in the shape of his face—the same strong jaw, the same deep-set eyes, the same slight crease between his eyebrows. He wore a gray jacket despite the heat, and one hand gripped the folder against his side as if it contained something fragile.
His gaze moved from me to the paper in my hand.
“Matthew,” he said quietly. “You look just like him.”
I had heard adults say that before. Teachers had told me I had my father’s smile. Neighbors had said my eyes were exactly like his. But coming from this man, it felt different.
Maybe because he was the first person who had ever looked at me as if seeing my father in my face hurt.
“Are you Gabriel?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I’m your uncle.”
The word felt strange. I had never had an uncle before, at least not one I remembered. My father had rarely spoken about his family. When I was younger, I assumed that meant they lived far away. Later, I began to suspect there had been some disagreement between them.
I had never imagined that a part of my father’s life had been standing somewhere beyond our house, waiting for me to find it.
Gabriel glanced toward the small white house behind me.
“Is Rosa here?”
“She’s inside,” I said.
He gave a short nod, but before he could move, Rosa opened the front door.
“You must be Gabriel,” she said.
“I am. And you must be Rosa.” His expression softened. “Thank you for taking care of Matthew.”
Rosa looked toward me.
