Miriam had been waiting years for a break from grief. Loss had etched itself into her very being, showing up in mirrors and quiet mornings alike. So when she stepped off the shuttle in the Bahamas, greeted by salt air and sunlight, she allowed herself a fragile hope: maybe this trip would bring a little peace.
The Ocean Club shimmered ahead, white against a turquoise sky. As she entered the bustling lobby and approached the front desk, her gaze wandered—and landed on a moment that would shatter everything she thought she knew.
Two figures stood by the gift shop. Her breath caught. It couldn’t be. Yet the resemblance was undeniable. Her daughter Pamela and son-in-law Frank—gone for five years—stood before her. Not look-alikes. Not tricks of memory. It was them.
She dropped her bags and ran. “Pamela!” she cried.
The woman turned, her eyes flashing with recognition—and then fear. Frank turned too. Then they bolted.
Miriam chased them outside, calling out. When she warned she’d involve the authorities, they stopped. Pamela’s eyes welled with tears. “Mom,” she whispered, “we can explain.”
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