“Excuse me,” I said. “May I ask—did someone give you that bracelet when you were a child?”
Her face changed.
“Yes,” she said slowly.
“In an orphanage?” I whispered.
She went pale.
“How do you know?”
“I made two bracelets like that,” I said. “One for me. One for my little sister.”
She stared at me.
“My sister’s name was Elena.”
“That’s my name,” I said.
We stood there, stunned, in the middle of the cookie aisle, while life moved on around us.
We went to a small café next door. Her daughter—Lily—ordered hot chocolate. We ordered coffee we barely touched.
Up close, there was no doubt. She was Mia. Just older.
“I thought you forgot me,” she said through tears.
“Never,” I replied. “I thought you had forgotten me.”
