He leaned closer to the window, but a truck passed in front of them and blocked his view. He slapped the seat in front of him.
“Stop the car,” he said.
The driver hit the brakes and Mason stepped out before the vehicle fully settled. He ignored the horns and the strangers staring at him. He searched the sidewalk, heart thundering, scanning for the only person whose face still lived in the quiet corners of his memory.
He spotted her at the far end of the lot. She was guiding the three boys into a rideshare, lifting them in one at a time with practiced patience. Mason tried to call out, but the car pulled away and disappeared into the flow of traffic before he took two steps forward.
He stood there, stunned, feeling something heavy and sharp unravel inside him.
Later, back in his apartment, he paced from one end of the living room to the other. He kept replaying the sight of those boys. Their hair, the shape of their mouths, the way they tilted their heads at the same angle he did when curious. There was no mistaking the resemblance. They looked like him, even more than he had expected children might.