A thin woman sat beneath its metal awning, wrapped in an oversized gray coat.
Her hair was tangled, and a battered paper cup rested beside her knees.
I looked away, uncomfortable with the familiar ache of grief.
“I know you miss your mother, sweetheart, but she died three years ago, and seeing somebody similar doesn’t mean she’s returned.”
Poppy shook her head.
Before I could explain further, she pulled toward the pedestrian crossing.
I followed immediately, keeping her beside me until the crossing signal changed.
The woman noticed us approaching and lowered her face.
Poppy stopped directly before her.
“Mommy, I’ve been looking for you, and Daddy said you couldn’t come home anymore!”
She slowly raised her head.
Her eyes widened.
The paper cup slipped from her trembling fingers, spilling coins across the wet pavement.
Then she reached toward Poppy.
My daughter stepped into her embrace, and she held her against her chest.
“My beautiful little girl, I never stopped wanting to come home to you,” she whispered.
I couldn’t move.
Beneath her exhausted expression and hollow cheeks, I recognized the woman I had married.
The slight asymmetry of her jaw.
The small beauty mark near her left eyebrow.
The familiar way she kissed our daughter’s forehead.
“Adriana, how can you possibly be here when I watched them bury you three years ago?”
LEAVE “MOM” BELOW HERE IF YOU WANT TO READ PART 3 TO END OF STORY “