“I know. But look.”
She held out her phone. On the screen was a local community forum post.
The title made my stomach drop.
“Searching for the girl I loved 40 years ago.”
My breath snagged as I read.
There was a photo.
“She had a blue coat and a chipped front tooth. We were 17. She was the bravest person I knew. I know she wanted to be a teacher, and I’ve checked every school in the county for decades—no luck. If anyone knows where she is, please help me before Christmas. I have something important to return to her.”
Advertisement
Emily whispered, “Scroll down.”
There was a photo.
Me at 17, in my blue coat, chipped front tooth visible because I was laughing. Dan’s arm around my shoulders like he could protect me from everything.
“Do you want me to message him?”
My knees went weak. I grabbed the edge of a desk.
“Miss Anne,” Emily said, voice trembling now, “is that you?”
Advertisement
I barely got it out. “Yes.”
The room went too bright, too loud, like my senses couldn’t decide what to do with reality.
Emily’s eyes were huge. “Do you want me to message him? Should I tell him where you are?”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
“The last update was Sunday.”
So I did what I’ve always done: tried to shrink it.
“It might not be him,” I said. “It could be old.”
Advertisement
Emily gave me a look that said, Please don’t lie to yourself.
“Miss Anne,” she said gently, “he updates it every week. The last update was Sunday.”
Sunday.
A few days ago.
Hope and fear tangled so tight I couldn’t separate them.
So he wasn’t reminiscing. He was still looking.
I felt something stir under my ribs—hope and fear tangled so tight I couldn’t separate them.
Advertisement
Emily waited, absolutely still, like if she moved I’d retreat.
Finally, I exhaled. “Okay.”
“Okay as in yes?”
“Yes,” I said, voice shaking. “Message him.”
It’s humiliating how quickly your brain can turn back into a teenager.
Emily nodded like a professional.
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “Public place. Daytime. Boundaries. I’m not getting you abducted, Miss Anne.”
Advertisement
Despite myself, I laughed. It came out shaky and wet.
“Thank you,” I said. “Truly.”
That night, I stood in front of my closet like it was an exam I hadn’t studied for.
It’s humiliating how quickly your brain can turn back into a teenager.
“You are 62. Act like it.”
I held up sweaters. Rejected them. Put them back. Pulled them out again.
Leave a Comment