“Where… where did you get that?”
He fell silent.
Mom said nothing.
He leaned closer, trembling. “Oh my God… No… This can’t be.”
Then he started crying.
I stared at the photographs.
Because the little girl looked exactly like me at three years old.
But why would a stranger recognize a photograph of me that I'd never seen before?
Photographs of two children.
“What's happening?” I demanded.
Mom snapped the locket shut.
“Claire, take me home.”
The guard whispered, “Please, I need to know…”
“You need to apologize,” I interrupted.
He looked ashamed. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I shouldn't have grabbed you.”
The little girl looked exactly like me.
“Get your manager,” I told the guard.
Patricia arrived minutes later.
“I want to file a complaint.”
“Of course, ma'am.”
“And preserve the security footage.”
I shouldn't have grabbed you.
“I'll make sure it's saved.”
“What's his name?”
“Michael.”
Mom squeezed my arm. “Please, sweetheart. Home.”
