The next morning, as she rearranged peaches on the display, a woman approached.
She was older, thin, with a worn cardigan and tired eyes.
“You’re… Emily?” she asked gently.
Emily froze. Her heart thundered.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Jason’s mother.”
The ground seemed to tilt.
The woman took a shaky breath and held out a small gift bag.
“I was visiting family nearby,” she said. “I heard you lived here. I… I want to meet my grandson.”
Emily’s voice trembled. “Why now? After everything?”
The woman’s gaze dropped. “I was wrong,” she whispered. “I made Jason choose. The woman he married… she couldn’t have children. They divorced last year.”
She paused, her eyes glistening.
“Jason died three months ago. Car accident. Before he passed, he told me, ‘I have a son. If you still love me, please find them. Ask for forgiveness.’”
Emily steadied herself on the wooden counter. Her knees threatened to give out.
