The store felt quieter, like sound itself had decided to disappear.
He slowly crouched down, bringing himself to her level. His voice was calm, almost too calm.
“What if I offered more than milk?”
Her grip tightened around the carton. The baby shifted in her arms, letting out a small, broken sound.
She tried to step back, but her legs didn’t listen properly.
The man reached into his coat pocket.
Her breath froze.
For a moment, she expected money. Help. Or danger.
But when he finally pulled his hand out… it wasn’t cash.
It was an old photograph.
A picture of her—years ago—standing in front of a house she didn’t recognize… smiling.
And beneath it, written in faded ink:
“We found you.”
