Chapter 2: The Photograph
Daniel didn't move.
Neither did Leah.
The city continued around them as if nothing had happened.
A bus pulled away.
A shopping cart rattled over a crack in the pavement.
Someone across the street called for a taxi.
But Daniel's eyes never left the photograph.
“Give that to me,” he said.
Leah tightened her fingers around it.
“Daniel…”
“Leah.””
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Give me the photograph.””
Ava quietly stood up.
Her cardboard drawing slid beneath her shoe.
Leah stepped slightly in front of her.
“Where did you get this?””
Daniel's jaw tightened.
“That isn't what I asked.””
“I know.””
“Leah, give it to me.””
“No.””
The word surprised both of them.
Daniel stared at her.
“No?”” he repeated.
Leah held the photograph against her chest.
“You're scaring her.””
Daniel's eyes flicked toward Ava.
The little girl had moved behind Leah.
“I haven't done anything to her.””
“You didn't have to.””
Ava's voice came from behind Leah.
“You weren't supposed to see me.””
Daniel went pale.
He stared at her.
“What?””
Ava peeked around Leah's side.
“You weren't supposed to see me yet.””
Daniel looked at Leah as though she had brought a ghost into the street.
“Who told you to come here?””
Ava said nothing.
“Your mother?””
Silence.
“What's her name?””
Ava lowered her eyes.
Leah crouched beside her.
“You don't have to answer if you don't want to.””
Daniel took a sharp breath.
“Leah, don't.””
Leah looked up.
“Don't what?””
“Get involved.””
“She's eight.””
Daniel's face hardened.
“You don't know what you're talking about.””
“Then explain the photograph.””
He said nothing.
Leah unfolded it again.
The younger Daniel.
The woman.
The baby.
The date.
The handwritten sentence.
*The day we lost her.*
Leah pointed at the writing.
“Is this your handwriting?””
Daniel's silence was answer enough.
Ava stepped closer.
“That was my birthday.””
Daniel's eyes snapped toward her.
Leah looked down.
Ava was staring at the photograph.
“My mom told me.””
Daniel shook his head.
“No.””
“She said you thought I died.””
“No.””
“She said you cried.””
Daniel's breathing changed.
“Stop.””
“She said you held me once.””
“Stop!””
The shout made Ava recoil.
Daniel immediately looked horrified by his own voice.
He lowered it.
“I'm sorry.””
Ava didn't move.
Leah stood.
“You need to tell me what's going on.””
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“My wife was pregnant.””
“Was?””
“She died six months later.””
“With the baby?””
Daniel looked at the photograph.
“With our daughter.””
Leah's heart hammered.
“You told everyone the baby died.””
“She did.””
Ava spoke from behind her.
“No, she didn't.””
Daniel closed his eyes.
Leah turned toward the child.
“Ava…”
The girl reached into her hoodie again.
This time she pulled out a tiny plastic hospital bracelet.
Leah took it.
The faded letters were barely readable.
*BABY GIRL — DANIEL W.*
Below the name was a date.
The same date.
Leah looked at Daniel.
His face had lost all color.
“Where did you get that?”” he whispered.
Ava pointed toward the photograph.
“My mom kept it.””
Daniel shook his head.
“She couldn't have.””
“Why?””
“Because…”
He stopped.
Leah stepped closer.
“Because what?””
Daniel stared at the bracelet.
“Because I was there when they told me she was dead.””
Ava's lower lip trembled.
“They lied.””
Daniel looked at her.
“Who?””
“My mom.””
Leah felt the air disappear from her lungs.
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
“Your mother lied to me?””
Ava nodded.
“She said you would come looking.””
“Why didn't I?””
Ava looked confused.
“Because she changed the name.””
Daniel froze.
“What name?””
“My name.””
Leah looked at Ava.
“What was your name before?””
The girl whispered something.
Leah couldn't hear.
“What?””
Ava said it again.
This time, Daniel heard.
His entire body went rigid.
“No,” he whispered.
Leah stared at him.
“Daniel?””
He took a step backward.
The grocery store door swung open behind him.
A customer emerged carrying two bags.
Daniel barely noticed.
He kept staring at Ava.
“That name,” he said.
“Who taught you that name?””
“My mom.””
Daniel's eyes filled with something Leah couldn't identify.
Grief.
Fear.
Or recognition.
Ava reached into her pocket one more time.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“My mom said if you ever saw me…”
Daniel's voice cracked.
“What?””
Ava unfolded the paper.
There was a single sentence written across it.
Daniel read it.
His hand flew to his mouth.
Leah watched his expression collapse.
“What does it say?”” she asked.
Daniel couldn't answer.
Ava looked directly at him.
Then she read the sentence aloud.
“My father will know the truth when he sees the second photograph.””
Daniel stared at her.
“Second photograph?””
Ava nodded.
Then she pointed across the street.
At an old blue mailbox.
“It's inside.””
Daniel didn't move.
Leah did.
She stepped off the curb.
And as she reached the mailbox, she saw something wedged beneath its metal door.
A photograph.
But this one showed Daniel holding a baby.
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And standing behind him was a woman Leah recognized.
A woman who was supposed to have died eight years ago.
