It had been almost four years since Mara, his wife, had quietly disappeared from their lives after a sudden medical crisis—one that had come without warning and gone without explanation—and with her, their intimacy, their morning arguments over trifles, and the comforting knowledge that there would always be someone in the dark to help her.
Since then, he has perfected the choreography of his public appearances: he arrives on time, congratulates the couple, signs the guest book, smiles shyly, and leaves before the emptiness inside him grows teeth.
His fingers were already gripping the key to the lock, ready to escape.
Three identical bucks.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Jonathan looked up, expecting an apologetic waiter or a lost customer.
Instead, there were three identical little girls sitting at her table, lined up so precisely that it took her a moment to realize they were three separate people, not the joke she saw in her tired eyes.
They looked like they were six years old, all three with light curls tied back with identical pink bows, their clothes carefully ironed, and their faces reflecting a seriousness that children rarely manage to conjure up without practice.
“Are you looking for someone?” Jonathan asked gently, looking around the room as if their mother was already looking for them.
“We found you on purpose,” the girl on the left said firmly.
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