Chapter 2: The Photograph
Samuel didn't move.
Snow landed on his gray beard and melted against the collar of his black leather vest.
Marcus stood several feet away, holding the silver watch between two fingers.
“You forgot this,” Marcus repeated.
Samuel slowly walked back toward the entrance.
“No.””
Marcus frowned.
“You left it on the counter.””
“I know.””
“Then why—”
“I left it there on purpose.””
Marcus stared at him.
“Why?””
Samuel's eyes dropped to the engraving.
His jaw tightened.
“Because sometimes a man has to decide what matters more.””
Marcus looked at the watch again.
“To Samuel,” he read quietly.
“Dad will always come back.””
Samuel's expression changed.
For the first time since entering the store, the tough old biker looked vulnerable.
“Where did you get that?””
Samuel reached for the watch.
Marcus didn't give it to him.
Instead, he asked,
“Who engraved it?””
Samuel's eyes hardened.
“My father.””
Marcus felt something cold move through his chest.
“Your father?””
Samuel nodded.
“A long time ago.””
“Was your father still alive when he gave it to you?””
Samuel looked away.
“No.””
Marcus swallowed.
“What's your father's name?””
Samuel's gaze snapped back to him.
“Why?””
“Just answer me.””
Samuel studied Marcus's face.
“Elias.””
Marcus went completely still.
Behind him, Christmas music continued playing through the speakers.
A cheerful children's song.
Completely wrong for the moment.
Marcus whispered,
“That's impossible.””
Samuel's brow furrowed.
“What is?””
Marcus turned toward the store.
“Come inside.””
Samuel didn't move.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Please.””
Something in Marcus's voice made him follow.
Inside, the warmth hit Samuel's face.
Employees were loading the final boxes.
Darnell looked over.
“Everything okay?””
Marcus answered without taking his eyes off Samuel.
“Yeah. Just keep loading.””
They walked behind the checkout counter.
Marcus opened a drawer.
Then another.
Finally, he pulled out a small wooden box.
Samuel watched him.
“What is that?””
Marcus didn't answer.
He placed the box on the counter and opened it.
Inside was a faded photograph.
Samuel's eyes immediately fixed on the image.
It showed a young Black woman standing beside a little Black boy.
The boy was perhaps six years old.
He wore a winter coat several sizes too large.
Around his wrist was a silver watch.
The same watch.
Samuel's breathing became uneven.
“Where did you get that?””
Marcus's voice trembled.
“My mother kept it.””
Samuel leaned closer.
The boy's face was partially shadowed, but there was something unmistakable about him.
The shape of the eyes.
The small scar above the eyebrow.
Samuel's lips parted.
“No.””
Marcus turned the photograph over.
Written on the back in faded blue ink were four words:
*Christmas Eve. Don't forget.*
Samuel touched the paper.
His fingers shook.
“I know this boy.””
Marcus stared at him.
“You do?””
Samuel closed his eyes.
“He was my son.””
Silence.
Darnell stopped moving several feet away.
Marcus's face went pale.
“You said your son disappeared.””
Samuel nodded.
“He did.””
“What was his name?””
Samuel looked at him.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
Then Samuel whispered,
“His name was—”
A loud crash came from the front of the store.
Everyone turned.
One of the stacked toy boxes had fallen.
Darnell hurried toward it.
Marcus didn't move.
He was still staring at Samuel.
“Say it.””
Samuel's face had gone strangely blank.
“I can't.””
“Why?””
“Because I haven't said his name out loud in thirty years.””
Marcus stepped closer.
“You think I’m him?””
Samuel looked at Marcus from head to toe.
The burgundy sweater.
The neat beard.
The guarded eyes.
Then his gaze dropped to Marcus's left wrist.
Marcus noticed.
“What?””
Samuel pointed.
“You have a scar.””
Marcus instinctively covered his wrist.
“What scar?””
Samuel's voice became barely audible.
“The one he got when he fell off his bicycle.””
Marcus slowly removed his hand.
A pale crescent-shaped scar crossed his wrist.
He looked at Samuel.
“My mother told me I got this when I was little.””
Samuel took one shaky breath.
“Your mother.””
Marcus nodded.
“Her name was Renee.””
Samuel closed his eyes.
That name hit him harder than any accusation could have.
Renee.
His wife.
The woman he had spent decades believing had died.
The woman whose letters stopped coming.
The woman whose house had been empty when he returned from a job years ago.
Samuel gripped the edge of the counter.
“Where is she?””
Marcus stared at him.
“She died six years ago.””
Samuel's knees nearly buckled.
Marcus caught his arm.
“You okay?””
Samuel pulled away.
“No.””
His voice cracked.
“I need to know something.””
“What?””
“Did she ever tell you about me?””
Marcus hesitated.
Then he reached into the wooden box again.
There was an envelope underneath the photograph.
Old.
Yellowed.
Unopened.
Marcus placed it on the counter.
“My mother left this with me.””
Samuel stared at his own name written across the front.
*Samuel Carter.*
His hands began shaking.
Marcus whispered,
“She told me never to open it unless I found you.””
Samuel looked up sharply.
“You found me?””
Marcus's eyes filled with tears.
“No.””
He pushed the envelope toward him.
“You walked into my store.””
Samuel slowly reached for it.
Before his fingers touched the paper, Marcus's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
Samuel noticed.
“Who is it?””
Marcus didn't answer.
The phone kept ringing.
Finally, Marcus whispered,
“My mother's number.””
Samuel's head lifted.
“That number can't be active.””
Marcus looked at the screen again.
The call ended.
May you like
Then a text appeared.
*Don't trust Samuel.*
