Jack looked toward the gate. Toward the street beyond it. Then he stood. “Show me.” Eli hesitated. Then nodded. They walked out of the park and onto the lane beyond it. “Which house?” Jack asked. Eli pointed up ahead. “That one.” It was a small, tidy house with a faded blue gate and chalk drawings on the walkway.
A pink bicycle leaned against the wall near the steps. Jack opened the gate and walked up the path. He knocked. A moment later, the door opened. And Jack stopped breathing. The woman standing there had Sarah’s face. Not close. Not similar. Exactly. Eight years of trying not to hope collapsed in a single second. “Sarah,” he said. The woman blinked. “I’m sorry?”