living room.
And froze.
My hands began shaking.
Because above Arthur’s fireplace was something I knew I had seen before.
Something that had no reason to be in Australia.
It was a photograph of my late husband, Daniel.
He looked twenty years younger, but I knew that smile.
Daniel was standing beside Arthur, both men holding the same silver trophy.
“Where did you get that?” I whispered.
Arthur entered with the coffee tray.
The moment he saw where I was looking, his face lost all color.
“You knew Daniel?” he asked.
“He was my husband for thirty-eight years.”
The tray rattled in Arthur’s hands.
“That’s impossible,” he said.
“Daniel told me he never married.”
My knees weakened.
“When was this taken?”
Arthur slowly set the tray down.
“Thirty-nine years ago.
We worked together here in Sydney—until he vanished without saying goodbye.”
“That was the year we married.”
Arthur stared at
