Thin. Guarded. His hair was darker. His face carried Daniel’s eyes and a stranger’s caution.

For one second, neither of us moved. Then Sophie whispered, “Noah?”

His eyes shifted to her — the little sister he’d left behind at six, now thirteen. She took one step, then stopped, afraid he might vanish. Noah’s face broke first.

“Sophie?” She ran to him, and he caught her awkwardly, then clung to her like a drowning man finding shore.

I stood frozen. Not because I didn’t want to hold him. Because I was terrified he wouldn’t want me to.

Then Noah looked over Sophie’s shoulder. “Mom?”