The nurse stared at the screen, and her hand began to shake. “Five years ago, I sat with a dying man on the oncology floor,” she said. “He kept a photo of his son taped beside his bed. The boy wore that same navy hoodie.” Her voice cracked. “Hettie, I never learned what happened to that child after the funeral.” Behind her, a truck honked, and neither of us moved.

Then her phone rang. She listened, and the color left her face. “He’s awake,” she whispered. “And he keeps asking for someone.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “He wants the lady at the coffee window. He says she took his picture, and he needs to tell her something.” I grabbed my coat, locked the register, and ran out into the falling snow.