Even the way he walked was the same — leaning forward slightly, like he was always in a hurry to get somewhere important.
My chest tightened.
I turned around and rushed inside, locking the door behind me like someone might chase me.
For three days I barely left the house.
I watched through the blinds, telling myself I had imagined it. That grief can play tricks on your mind, especially near old anniversaries.
On the third night I pulled out my old yearbook.
My fingers traced Gabriel’s picture until the paper started to soften under my touch.
By the fourth morning I had almost convinced myself the man next door was just a stranger who happened to resemble someone I once loved.
That’s when someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Deliberate.
My stomach dropped.
“Who is it?” I called through the door.
“It’s Elias,” a man’s voice answered. “Your new neighbor.”
Elias.
“I thought I should introduce myself properly.”
I opened the door just a crack.
He stood there holding a basket.
“Hi,” he said with an easy smile. “I just moved in next door.”
My throat tightened.
His voice was older, rougher… but it struck something deep inside my chest.
He lifted the basket slightly.
“Peace offering,” he joked. “Muffins. So you don’t complain to the HOA if I forget to mow the lawn.”
I forced a small laugh.
That’s when his sleeve slid back.
The skin along his wrist and forearm was wrong.
Shiny in some places. Tight in others.
Burn scars.
And just beneath them, distorted but still there…
The mark.
A small infinity symbol.
The tattoo we had gotten together when we were stupid teenagers who believed forever actually meant forever.
My breath left my body.
I didn’t even realize I had spoken until I heard the name leave my mouth.
“Gabe?”
The smile on his face disappeared instantly.
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