For illustrative purposes only
I began reading aloud.
“Saw Ethan at the Saturday market today. He helped the Ward girl carry a box of apples after she dropped it outside the produce stand. Neither one realized how many years they’ve been missing each other by minutes instead of miles. Funny how life finally lets two paths become one.”
My eyes widened.
The Saturday market.
I remembered it perfectly.
A heavy box of apples had slipped from my hands.
Fruit rolled everywhere across the pavement.
Before I could panic, a young farmer had knelt beside me.
Together we’d chased apples before they reached the street.
When everything had finally been gathered…
We both laughed.
That farmer had been Ethan.
The first real conversation we’d ever shared.
I slowly looked up.
“She knew?”
Ethan smiled faintly.
“Before I did.”
He laughed under his breath.
“A week later she told me…”
He paused, hearing the memory in his mind.
“‘Some stories spend years learning how to arrive.’”
The words settled over the room.
Victor looked away.
For the first time that evening…
He had nothing clever to say.
Ethan reached into the drawer again.
“This is the last thing.”
He slid one faded photograph across the desk.
I picked it up carefully.
The county fair.
Summer.
Bright balloons.
Children laughing.
I recognized myself immediately.
Eight years old.
Holding a blue ribbon in one hand and a balloon in the other.
Then my eyes wandered toward the corner of the picture.
A little boy wearing a straw hat stood beside an older couple.
He held a paper cup of lemonade.
He wasn’t looking at me.
I wasn’t looking at him.
We were facing opposite directions.
I slowly raised my eyes.
“Ethan…”
He nodded.
“That’s me.”
For a long time…
None of us spoke.
I looked back at the photograph.
Twenty feet.
That was all.
Twenty feet had separated two children who would someday fall in love.
“I never saw you.”
“I know.”
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