Dozens of photographs showing a smiling little girl with bright eyes and police reports stamped with red letters spelling missing across the top. He touched one photo gently, tracing the outline of a child’s face that had haunted his dreams for decades. Miles away, in the small insurance office where she worked, Relle Brooks pressed her fingers to her temples.
The headache had come out of nowhere, sharp and insistent. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing like her therapist had taught her. But instead of calm, a fragment of something else flashed through her mind. crisp winter air burning her lungs, the grip of unfamiliar fingers on her arm, the beginning of a scream that disappeared into darkness.
The memory, if that’s what it was, slipped away like water through her fingers, leaving only an uneasy feelingin its wake. “Just stress,” she muttered, reaching for the bottle of aspirin in her desk drawer. The quarterly reports were due, and she’d been working extra hours. That’s all it was.
She pushed away the nagging sensation that had been growing stronger lately. The feeling that something was trying to surface in her mind. Her computer screen showed 2:30 in the afternoon. In a few hours Nia would be home from school, filling their small house with stories about her day. Roshelle focused on that thought, on the solid reality of her present life, letting it anchor her against the strange tide of unease.
The headache gradually subsided, but the echo of that half-remembered moment lingered like a shadow at the edge of her vision. She immersed herself in spreadsheets and client emails, determined to keep her mind occupied with the concrete details of her daily routine. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, a door that had been locked for 25 years had begun to crack open, letting in whispers of a past she had taught herself to forget.
The morning sky hung heavy with dark clouds as Nia stepped out of her house, carefully balancing the wrapped breakfast in her hands. The air felt thick and damp, warning of the storm to come. She had barely made it halfway down the street when the first fat raindrops began to fall, quickly turning into a steady downpour. By the time she reached Mr.
Witmore’s porch, her jacket was soaked through, though she’d managed to keep the breakfast dry by hugging it close to her chest. The old wooden porch creaked as she hurried under its shelter, water dripping from her braids. The door opened before she could knock. Good heavens, child. You’re soaked through, Aaliyah said, his weathered face creased with concern.
Please come inside where it’s warm, just for a moment until the rain lets up. Nia hesitated, remembering her mother’s rules about entering strangers homes. But Mr. Witmore didn’t feel like a stranger anymore, and the rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the porch roof. I can make you some tea, he offered gently to warm you up.
The house was neat but sparse with furniture that looked barely used. Nia followed him to a small kitchen where an old kettle sat on the stove. The walls were bare except for a single calendar, its pages crisp as though rarely turned. “Chamomile or peppermint?” Elias asked, reaching for a wooden box of tea bags.
Peppermint, please,” Nia replied, setting his breakfast on the counter. “My mom likes peppermint tea when she comes home from her night shift.” Alas’s hands slowed as he prepared the tea. “Your mother works nights, too.” Nia nodded, accepting the steaming mug with both hands. “At the hospital, she’s a cleaning lady there, and during the day, she works at the grocery store.
” She blew carefully across the surface of her tea. She says, “Working hard is how you show love.” Something flickered across Elias’s face. Pain maybe or recognition. He turned away quickly, busying himself with unwrapping his breakfast. “That must be difficult for both of you. Sometimes I don’t see her much,” Nia admitted.
“But she always makes time for breakfast. says it’s the most important meal because it sets the tone for your whole day. She smiled, remembering her mother’s words. That’s why we make sure you get breakfast, too. The rain continued to pour outside as they sat in comfortable silence, Nia sipping her tea while Elias ate small, careful bites of toast.
