his eyes moved toward the large screen beside the stage where students’ names were displayed.
ANDREW PARKER — GRADE 7.
He frowned.
After the performance, students stood and bowed.
Andy turned slightly.
For one second, the auditorium lights caught his face.
Adam stopped clapping.
Even from several rows away, I saw the color drain from his face.
Andy had Adam’s eyes.
Not similar eyes.
The same eyes.
Then the student art slideshow began.
AMARA PARKER.
Her school photograph appeared beside her drawing.
Adam’s mouth opened slightly.
And finally:
ASHTON PARKER — ROBOTICS CLUB.
Adam turned his head slowly.
His eyes searched the auditorium.
And found me.
Twelve years disappeared in one second.
I wasn’t a successful business owner.
I wasn’t the woman who had raised three children.
I was thirty again.
Standing outside a hospital.
Waiting.
Adam stared at me.
I stared back.
Beside him, the blond woman leaned closer.
“Adam?”
He
