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Where is Miss Diane now, he asked. She dropped us off, Sarah said. She said she’d come back later, but we’ve been waiting a long time.
Jonathan looked around, suddenly uneasy. There were no other visitors nearby, no sign of an adult watching over them. The thought that these two five-year-olds had been left alone in a cemetery was almost too much to process.
He stood slowly, pulling out his phone. Can I call someone for you? Maybe Miss Diane? Sarah shook her head. We don’t know her number.
Jonathan crouched down so he was eye-level again. Would you feel okay coming with me for a little while? Just until we find her. I won’t do anything without asking first, I promise.
The girls looked at each other. Sophie nodded first, then Sarah. Okay, she said.
He offered a hand to each of them, and they took it, small fingers wrapping around his with surprising trust. As they walked back toward his car, Jonathan glanced over his shoulder at the grave one more time. The questions were piling up faster than he could answer them, why had Emily kept this secret? How had no one reached out to him? What did he even do now? But one truth was already crystal clear.
Whatever came next, he wasn’t leaving these girls behind. Not again. Back in the car, the silence stretched between them like a fragile thread.
Jonathan had buckled the girls into the back seat carefully, checking twice to make sure everything was secure. They sat quietly, staring out the windows as he pulled onto the road, their small faces full of something heavier than any child should have to carry. He glanced at them in the rearview mirror more than once, his mind moving faster than the car could drive.
He had no plan, only questions, only instinct, only a growing sense that something irreversible had just happened and he wasn’t ready for it, but he also couldn’t ignore it. His first destination was a small diner a few miles from the cemetery. He needed time to think, and more than that, he needed to make sure the girls ate something.
When they arrived, he walked them inside gently, his hands hovering behind them protectively, like a father who wasn’t yet sure if he had the right to be one. The waitress raised an eyebrow at the sight of him with two small children, but said nothing as she guided them to a corner booth. He ordered them grilled cheese sandwiches and apple juice.
He ordered coffee for himself and didn’t touch it. As the food arrived, the girls ate in silence, too polite to speak but too hungry to wait. Jonathan watched them, thinking about all the things he’d missed.
Their first steps. Their first words. Their birthdays.
Every moment that should’ve been his to witness had slipped through his fingers before he even knew they existed. And the more he thought about it, the more his regret turned into something colder, sharper, anger. Not at them.
Not even at Emily. But at himself. For being so buried in his own ambition that he had never stopped to wonder if she needed him, if she had tried to reach out and given up.
He cleared his throat as the girls finished their meal. Can I ask you something? He said gently. They both nodded, wiping their hands on napkins.
Did your mom ever talk about me? Sarah looked uncertain. Sophie, always bolder, answered first. She had a picture of you.
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