The little girl swallowed hard.
For a moment, she looked afraid to answer.
Then she whispered, âHer name is Rosa.â
The world seemed to tilt beneath him.
That name did not simply reach his ears. It broke through him.
His chair scraped loudly against the polished floor as he stood too quickly. Nearby conversations died at once. Faces turned toward him, but he did not notice them.
He only saw the child.
Rosaâs eyes.
Rosaâs softness.
Rosaâs impossible return in the form of a little girl standing before him.
His chest tightened.
âWhere is she?â he asked.
The girl gripped the edge of the table.
âSheâs sick,â she whispered. âIn the old rooms behind the station.â
The old manâs breath shook.
Then she said the words that finished breaking him.
âShe told me⊠if you still cared⊠you would come.â
