I had driven there.
He looked heavier than I remembered, broader through the shoulders, but unmistakably Michael.
Beside him stood Rebecca.
And beside Rebecca stood a teenage boy wearing the dark green blazer of St.
Augustine Preparatory Academy.
For one strange second, none of them noticed me.
Michael was bent slightly toward the boy, adjusting something on his lapel.
“Evan, relax,” he said.
“You've done harder things than this.”
The boy—Evan—gave a tight smile.
Rebecca touched his shoulder.
Then Michael looked up.
Our eyes met.
His face changed so quickly that it almost fascinated me.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Shock.
Then something colder.
“Laura?”
I had imagined this moment many times over thirteen years.
Sometimes I thought I would tremble.
Sometimes I imagined slapping him.
Sometimes I imagined delivering a devastating speech.
But when the moment finally came, I simply stood there holding a canvas tote bag containing two bottles of water, three granola bars, emergency pencils, and Noah’s forgotten phone charger.
Very glamorous.
“Hello, Michael.”
Rebecca turned.
Her expression tightened immediately.
She had changed too.
Shorter hair.
Pearl earrings.
A cream coat perfectly tailored around a figure that looked as if it had never known stress eating.
For half a second, genuine fear crossed her face.
Then it disappeared behind a smile.
Michael stepped toward me.
“What are you doing here?”
Not
How are you?
Not
Where are the boys?
Not even
It’s been thirteen years.
Just:
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m registering.”
“For what?”
I almost laughed.
Behind me, I could hear Nathan whisper something to Noah.
Neither boy had moved.
Michael hadn’t noticed them.
