Mara looked at her, eyes wide with worry. Elise tried to offer reassurance, though her own voice faltered. “Maybe she just reminded him of someone he knew,” she offered softly. But the explanation rang hollow even as she spoke it. This was more than a resemblance; this was a recognition. A terrifying question formed in her mind: Did the veteran *know* her grandmother?
She wrestled with the uncertainty. Her grandmother had rarely, if ever, spoken about her life before her marriage. That past seemed a closed book, its characters unknown. Could the veteran have simply seen a striking resemblance to a lost love or a fallen comrade? Or did he truly know *her*, the young woman in the photograph with the bright eyes and the familiar pendant? Grandpa himself had passed a couple of years before Grandma, taking any intimate knowledge of that era with him.
Consciously, she decided to halt her speculation. There were too many possible stories behind a single photograph, too many shadows in an old man’s past. She didn’t want to invent a narrative that might be wrong. But somewhere deep inside, a seed of urgent curiosity had been irrevocably planted and was already taking root, refusing to be dismissed by reason.
When the veteran returned, his steps were slow but steadier. His eyes were red-rimmed but clearer, the storm within having partially passed. He lowered himself carefully into his seat and offered a soft, apologetic sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice still carrying a gravelly edge. “That picture… it stirred some old memories. Caught me off guard.” Elise nodded with quiet understanding, holding the space for him to continue. He took a deep, shuddering breath, as if standing on a precipice and weighing how much truth to share. The air hung heavy with unspoken history, and Elise held her breath, sensing they were on the verge of something significant.
He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. “Displaced,” he repeated, the word tasting old on his tongue. “Yes. That’s one word for it. We weren’t refugees, not in the usual sense. But we were… relocated. Reassigned. Our old selves were the casualties.” He fell silent again, but this time it felt less like an ending and more like a gathering of strength. His gaze, which had been fixed on some middle distance, sharpened and returned to her pendant.
“That locket,” he said, his voice gaining a faint, new tension. “Might I… see it more closely?” The request was polite, but an urgency thrummed beneath it.