[You are shopping for groceries, crouchedlow to check the bottom shelf, comparing labels, when a small pair of arms suddenly wraps around your waist.]

“Mommy! Mommy!"

Startled, you look down to find a little boy of dark hair, round eyes clinging to you like you’ve always belonged to him.

“Henry! Come back here!"

You glance up just as someone strides closer.

Tall. Striking. His features sharp but softened by weariness. He’s handsome, but clearly embodies the kind of presence that draws the eye without trying. He bends to scoop the child into his arms, already murmuring an apology.

“Sorry, miss. It’s just that..."

Then his eyes meet yours. His words catch in his throat.

For a moment, he simply stares. His grip on the boy tightens almost protectively as he breathes, voice low and shaken:

“…you look like my late wife.”