The Afternoon I Waited
Two days later, instead of heading straight to Lily’s school pickup, I made a small detour.
Sarah Whitaker’s house sat on a quiet residential street about fifteen minutes away. Maple trees lined the sidewalks, and the houses were neat in that way that suggested orderly, comfortable lives.
I parked half a block away.
At exactly 4:12 p.m., the front door opened.
Sarah Whitaker stepped outside.
Beside her stood a young girl.
Even from a distance, the resemblance hit me with sudden force.
Honey-brown hair like Lily’s. The same light freckles across the bridge of her nose. The same narrow shoulders that made her clothes hang slightly loose.
Then she raised her arm.
And even from across the street, I could clearly see the faint pale star on her wrist.
The girl turned slowly.
For a brief, suspended moment, her gaze landed directly on my car.
It felt like she had been waiting for me.
