only strangers.
Then a man stepped sideways to let someone pass.
My heart stopped.
Adam.
It had been twelve years.
But I knew him immediately.
Some faces get stored in a part of your memory time can’t reach.
He looked older, of course.
His hair was shorter.
He wore an expensive-looking charcoal coat.
He had gained a little weight.
There were lines around his eyes.
But it was Adam.
Standing beside him was a woman around my age.
She had dark blond hair and was laughing at something a girl beside her had said.
The girl looked maybe eleven or twelve.
Adam leaned down and adjusted the girl’s scarf.
It was such a small gesture.
Gentle.
Familiar.
Fatherly.
That hurt more than seeing him.
For twelve years, I had told myself he simply wasn’t capable of being a father.
Then I saw him carefully fixing another child’s scarf.
Mrs. Henderson
