Ethan moved toward the house as if underwater, terrified this was some cruel illusion. Along the side fence, a missing knot in the wood left a small hole.
He pressed his eye to it.
Sunlight warmed the overgrown yard. A sheet fluttered on a clothesline. And there, seated on an old blanket, stacking worn wooden blocks, were two little girls.
Golden curls caught the light. Oversized dresses hung from thin shoulders.
One laughed—a bright, musical sound, followed by a small cough.
Ava’s laugh.
Beside her, lips pursed in focus, was Lily.
Seven years old now. Thinner. Older. But unmistakably his daughters—the ones he had buried in his mind a thousand times.
A sob escaped him.
The girls froze and turned toward the fence.
“Who’s there?” a woman called from inside. The back door swung open.
Ethan’s world tilted.
It was Grace.
She looked older, worn thin by fear and exhaustion. Her hair was tied in a careless bun, her sweater faded. A baseball bat trembled in her hands as she scanned the yard.
“Girls, inside. Now!” she ordered sharply.
The twins obeyed instantly, disappearing into the house.
Ethan could no longer hide. He rounded the fence, shoved open the rusted gate, and stepped into the yard.