Three years later, we were thriving.
Lily was in high school, Max was building robots in the garage, and our home was filled with light again.
For the first time, the past didn’t haunt us anymore.
Until one rainy afternoon.
I was leaving the grocery store, juggling bags and my umbrella, when I saw them.
Stan and Miranda, sitting at a small outdoor café across the street. If I hadn’t looked twice, I might not have recognized them.
Stan looked… old. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loose, his hair thinning. His confident posture was gone.
Miranda still dressed in designer clothes, but they’d lost their shine. Her dress was faded, her handbag scuffed, her heels worn.
I almost kept walking—but curiosity rooted me in place.
Then Stan looked up. Our eyes met.
“Lauren!” he called, stumbling to his feet. “Wait!”
I sighed, setting my groceries under the awning, and walked toward them.
