He opened a file he had sworn never to touch again: the accident report. The icy bridge. The crushed car. Glass. Blood. A burned coat found nearby. Presumed death. No body ever recovered. He had accepted presumed as final because he had to survive, because he had a child, because the world doesn’t stop for grief.
But now one detail blazed like an alarm: burn pattern and glass damage on the passenger side. Facial scar compatible.
What if Hannah wasn’t dead?
And what if he had just walked past her… without seeing her?
The next morning, the wind was cruel. The city moved on, indifferent. But Marcus drove back to that dull street as if pulled by something stronger than shame. She was there again, near a graffiti-covered wall, the old stroller beside her. The oversized coat. The teddy bear in her arms.
And then she did it—smoothed the bear’s fur with the same gesture Hannah used to smooth Ethan’s hair when he fell asleep.
Something inside Marcus broke.
He stepped out of the car. Walked slowly, carefully, as if one wrong step might shatter reality. She turned her head slightly. The light hit her face. The scar was there—pale, unmistakable.
“Hannah…” Marcus said, his voice barely a thread.