I turned, off-balance, clutching at whoever was hanging onto me.
A little boy stared back at me.
Seven, maybe eight. Brown hair. Big scared eyes.
Tears streaked down his cheeks, but he was grinning.
“I knew it,” he said.
“I told you it was her, Mom!”
Behind him stood a woman.
Thin. Pale. Coat too light for the weather.
Her hands trembled on a worn-out bag strap.
Her eyes met mine.
Recognition flared there too, like someone had lit a match.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “It’s you.”
Everything went distant.
The store noise. The whispers.
The perfume.
And I was back in the snow.
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