“A lot of people say that when they come back.”
He hesitated.
“Do you remember a girl named Maya Johnson?”
She frowned.
“That’s a common name…”
Ethan nodded.
He’d heard that too many times.
He turned to leave—
“Wait,” she said.
He stopped.
“There was a Maya… sweet girl. Always sharing her food with others.”
His heart raced.
“Do you know where she is?”
“She moved away… but I think her grandmother still lives nearby.”
Minutes later, Ethan stood in front of a small blue house.
Faded paint.
A tiny garden.
An elderly woman sat by the door.
“Yes?”
“Are you Maya Johnson’s grandmother?”
She looked at him closely.
“Yes…”
“My name is Ethan Cole.”
A pause.
Then recognition lit her face.
“The boy from the fence…”
Ethan swallowed hard.
“Is Maya here?”
She shook her head.
His heart sank—
“But she visits every Sunday.”
Ethan froze.
“Today is Sunday.”
He waited.
Hours passed.
The sun began to set.
Then—
Footsteps.
He looked up.
A woman walked down the street, carrying groceries.
Dark hair.
Warm brown skin.
A quiet smile.
She looked up.
Stopped.
“A… Ethan?”
His chest tightened.
“Yes.”
She stepped closer, eyes wide.
“It can’t be…”
He took out the small frame.
The red ribbon.
Tears filled her eyes.
“You kept it…”
“All these years.”
They talked for hours.