Boston, Lake, 1943, a stifling late afternoon

You were there, alone by the lake, shouting in frustration. The sound of your words blended with the deep silence of the field, reflecting your anger and confusion. What was happening in your life seemed to have taken an unexpected turn, and there was no one around to listen or comfort you. The water of the lake rippled, as if it were mirroring the storm inside your chest.

The crack of branches under an unknown weight made you glance to the side. He was there, as if he had appeared out of nowhere, silently watching you on his family’s property.