THEN I REALLY LOOKED AT HIM
For perhaps the first time in my life—
I studied his face.
The angle of his shoulders.
The way he tilted his head.
A small scar along his chin.
His mouth.
Something about that mouth bothered me.
It looked familiar.
Then a memory returned.
An old photograph of my mother.
Same crooked smile.
Same shape around the lips.
And suddenly I remembered something she had told me when I was seventeen.
We were sitting at the kitchen table.
She held a cup of tea she never drank.
“There was a baby before you.”
I had looked at her.
“What?”
“A boy.”
She stared at the table.
“Before I met your father.”
I was young.
Uncomfortable.
Afraid that asking questions might hurt her.
So I didn’t.
She never finished the story.
And eventually, I buried the memory.
Until graduation day.
“WHO ARE YOU?”
Arthur unfolded the letter.
His hands shook.
I whispered:
“Who are you?”
The woman beside me turned.
“Sir?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked concerned.
“I don’t think I’m okay.”
Arthur cleared his throat.
“This letter was written eighteen years ago.”
Sophie lowered her head.
“On the day Sophie was born.”
The entire stadium seemed to inhale at once.
That was the day my wife died.
The day everything changed.
Arthur looked toward me.
“Before Sophie was born, Nolan’s wife attended a fundraiser here at Westbridge High School.”
My skin went cold.
“She saw me.”
Arthur swallowed.
“And she told me I looked like someone she loved.”
