It felt as though our pasts were woven together by invisible threads.

When we finally decided to leave, the snow was sticking to the pavement.

Harold walked me out to my car, holding his umbrella over my head.

The cold air pinched my cheeks.

“Thank you for today, Eleanor,” Harold said, his voice warm against the chill.

“Thank you, Harold,” I said.

“Drive safely.”

“I will,” he promised.

I got into my car and started the engine.

The heater roared to life, blowing cold air that slowly turned warm.

I drove home through the quiet streets, my mind filled with images of Oakhaven.

I pictured a young Thomas and a young Margaret walking the same hallways.

It felt like a miracle.

But as I turned onto my street, the warmth in my chest began to fade.

A dark blue pickup truck was parked in my driveway.

It was David’s truck.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

I parked behind him and turned off the ignition.

The silence of the car was heavy.

I gathered my purse, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the cold.