The person wore a hood and kept their face turned away.
My pulse quickened.
“Who is that?”
My father leaned closer.
“I do not know.”
The figure paused beside his car before disappearing from view.
I replayed the footage.
This time, I focused on the shoes.
White sneakers with a dark stripe along the side.
I had seen them before.
Not recently, but often enough to remember.
My father looked at me.
“Lola?”
I closed the app.
“I need to check something.”
I drove home and pulled an old storage box from my closet.
Inside were photographs, birthday cards, and papers that had belonged to Mom.
At the very bottom was a picture from her final summer.
Standing beside her was my Aunt Sabrina.
On Sabrina’s feet were the same white sneakers.
She had been Mom’s younger sister.
After Mom died, she helped Dad through everything.
She cooked meals, handled paperwork, and stayed with him while I finished college.
