His heart pounded, an icy panic gripping him. He blinked, convinced his mind was playing tricks. But she was real, standing there with a menu in her hand, smiling politely at another customer. Laura had been gone for nearly a decade. The funeral, the grief, the empty house—they were all painfully real.
James swallowed hard. “Excuse me…” he managed to say, his voice hoarse.
The waitress turned toward him. For a fleeting moment, recognition—or something like it—flickered across her face. “Yes?” she said gently.
James’s mouth opened, then closed. He felt like a man caught between past and present. “I… I’m sorry. You… you look so familiar.”
