Part 2 — The Bridge Beneath the Highway
For one terrible second, Mara forgot how to breathe.
The parking lot noise disappeared.
Cars.
Voices.
Shopping carts.
Everything faded beneath the pounding sound of blood rushing through her ears.
“Wh… what did you say?”
The homeless man rubbed his beard slowly, eyes darting toward the street.
“I know where she is.”
Mara grabbed his sleeve harder.
“Take me to her right now.”
He hesitated.
Not the hesitation of someone emotional.
The hesitation of someone calculating.
“That depends.”
The hope inside Mara cracked slightly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means information costs money.”
Of course.
Reality returned all at once.
The shaking in his hands.
The sharpness in his eyes.
The way he kept glancing toward her purse.
Still…
He knew about the sweater.
No one else could.
“Tell me your name,” Mara said carefully.
“Dan.”
“How do you know Lily?”
He shrugged. “People talk.”
“That’s not enough.”
“She’s alive,” he repeated impatiently. “That should matter more.”
It did.
God help her, it did.
Because hope makes desperate people vulnerable.
And Mara had been desperate for three years.
“How much?” she asked quietly.
Dan named a number large enough to make her stomach drop.
“I don’t have that kind of cash.”
“Then I guess you don’t want to find her badly enough.”
He started walking away.
Panic exploded through Mara instantly.
“Wait!”
Dan stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I can get it tomorrow,” she said quickly. “Meet me here again.”
Slowly, he faced her.
“Two o’clock.”
“I’ll be here.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t waste my time.”
Then he disappeared around the corner, still wearing Lily’s sweater like stolen proof that her daughter existed somewhere beyond grief.
Mara stood frozen beside spilled groceries and melting ice cream long after he left.
Because for the first time in years, hope hurt worse than mourning.
That night, Mara barely slept.
The most important part is just ahead — click NEXT »»
