A small, worn photograph.
He held it up.
The woman leaned forward slightly, her brows tightening as she took it from him. At first, she looked annoyed… but then her face drained of color.
In the photo—a younger version of herself.
And next to her… a little girl.
Same eyes. Same smile.
Same hair.
Her fingers started to shake.
“Where did you get this?” she whispered.
The boy’s voice cracked.
“She’s my mom… she told me if I ever got lost, to find the woman who looks like me.”
Silence swallowed the room.
The woman’s breath caught. Her mind raced—memories she had buried, a past she had erased.
Years ago. A child she was told didn’t survive.
Her grip tightened on the photo.
“That’s… not possible…” she muttered.
The boy stepped closer, eyes filled with desperate hope.
“She said you would recognize her.”
Tears formed in the woman’s eyes for the first time.
The perfect, untouchable image shattered completely.
Slowly… she knelt in front of him.
“…What’s her name?” she asked, barely able to speak.
The boy whispered:
“Anna.”
The woman broke.
Because that was the name she had never said out loud again.
