Slowly, he drew the torn picture from the bag and held it out with both hands. “I think this belongs to you,” he said quietly. The old man’s breath caught the instant his eyes focused on the faded image of a couple, their faces softened by creases and time.
For a moment he didn’t move at all—just stared, as if the world had stopped turning. Then his voice cracked. “That’s them… my parents.” He clutched the photo tightly, shoulders shaking. “I haven’t seen this in… God, in half a lifetime.”