She nearly carried on walking.
Just another lad.
Another tale.
Another moment to move past.
Im hungry can you spare anything, please?
She handed him a few pounds, regardless.
But something rooted her there.
Then she spotted it.
A locket.
Worn thin as if it harboured a history.
May I have a look?
The boy passed it to her right away.
She opened it with trembling hands.
And her world came undone.
Inside was a photo.
Her.
Holding the baby shed long mourned.
Her voice faltered.
Where did this come from?
He didnt even pause.
He replied.
And whatever he said
she froze entirely.
Suddenly
someone behind her called the boys name.
The city hurried around them, oblivious.
Buses threw spray across the kerb.
People rushed by under dripping umbrellas.
Phones glimmered in weary hands.
No one spared a glance for the boy huddled beside the chemist, knees drawn tight to his chest.
His jacket hung off him, far too large and threadbare.
He looked too young to wear such defeated eyes.
Im hungry can you spare anything?
She slowed down instinctively.
Not because the words struck her as odd.
But because something in his voice wasnt pleading.
He sounded resigned.
As though hed learned to expect nothing from passing strangers.
For a brief moment
she almost walked on.
After all, shed heard every tale by now.
Each variation on hardship.
Every carefully practised heartbreak.
Every warning from mates about not stopping for strangers.
But she couldnt leave just yet.
Perhaps it was the raindrops soaking through his sleeves.
Perhaps because he wouldnt quite meet her gaze.
Perhaps the dull ache shed carried since leaving the hospital seventeen years before.
She rifled through her handbag.
Pulled out a note.
Here, she said gently.
The boys eyes widened in disbelief.
You dont have to
I know.
He accepted the money with a shy uncertainty, grateful but ashamed.
Thank you.
She gave a slight nod.
Then the chain around his neck caught her attention.
Old silver.
Tarnished with age.
A locket.
Something about it hit her sharply.
Not recollection exactly.
Recognition older than memory.
She squinted, heart tight.
Thats lovely, she murmured. Could I see it?
The boy hesitated, just a heartbeat, then unclasped it.
Of course.
He placed it in her palm, trusting.
The metal was icy cold.
Edges smoothed by countless fingers.
Her breathing slowed.
Shed seen this locket before.
Unthinkable.
Yet certain.
Her thumb lingered on a tiny dent at the hinge.
The very spot she remembered denting it on the hospitals tile floor.
Her fingers began to shake before she even managed the clasp.
Then
click.
It sprang open.
And her silent world fell apart.
Inside lay a faded photograph.
A younger version of herself.
Cradling a newborn swaddled in a soft blue shawl.
Cryingsmilingutterly spent.
She couldnt breathe.
No.
Her knees threatened to buckle.
Because that picture had vanished seventeen years ago.
The night the doctors told her her baby boy hadnt survived his operation.
The night shed never held him again.
Her voice splintered.
Where did you come by this?
The boy answered at once.
My mum gave it to me before she passed away.
She went motionless.
Rain tracked down the stone beside them.
Passers-by jostled past, blind to what thundered invisibly between these two on the wet pavement.
The boys voice was small.
She said if I ever got lost He swallowed. to find the lady in the picture.
Her eyes filled.
Her hand gripped the locket hard.
How old are you? she choked.
Seventeen.
Her heart missed a beat.
Seventeen.
She looked at him properly now.
Really looked.
The eyes.
The shape of his lips.
The tiny birthmark by his jaw
Oh God.
Her legs went weak.
Then
a voice rose behind her.
Ethan!
The boy turned immediately.
Across the street stood a distinguished man beneath a black brolly.
Tall.
Hair silvering.
Wearing a costly raincoat.
And when she caught sight of his face
cold dread swept her, numbing her fingers.
She recognised him.
Dr Raymond Hale.
The surgeon who had signed her sons death certificate.
