“You’re always running,” Margaret said, linking her arm through his. “You don’t even notice the seasons anymore.”
He nodded. Smiled politely. Checked his watch.
Then he saw her.
Nora Blake. Asleep on a bench. Three infants bundled beside her.
Adrian stopped cold.
“Adrian?” Margaret asked. “What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t answer. His throat closed.
Nora looked thinner. Exhausted. Her coat was too thin for October. One baby whimpered softly, and she didn’t even stir.
Margaret followed his stare. Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Adrian’s mind raced. Five years. It had been five years since he’d ended things with Nora. Since she’d begged him to choose her. Since he’d told her his life was “too complicated.”
Since she’d disappeared.
Now she was here. With three babies.
The timing clicked into place like a punch to the chest.
“This can’t be real,” he muttered.
But it was. The worn diaper bag. The empty bottle. The way Nora’s arms curled protectively around those tiny bodies even in sleep.
One baby had dark hair. Just like his.
Margaret moved first, steps careful as she approached the bench. She crouched beside Nora.
“Nora,” she said softly. “Honey, wake up.”