“She told me stories about her mom. Then she mentioned some things that sounded familiar.”
He smiled.
“And when I heard her ask for strawberry shortcake, I started wondering.”
He looked at the photograph.
“Then I saw you.”
He handed it to me.
“I knew.”
I looked down at the words on the back again.
“Keep an eye on her.”
My mother had written those words more than three decades earlier.
Ben had carried them all that time.
I swallowed.
“You really remembered?”
He nodded.
“I never forgot.”
There was no hidden legal battle behind it.
No insurance dispute.
No inheritance.
No secret financial arrangement.
No court case.
No complicated explanation.
Just an old promise.
A promise made by a grieving mother to a friend of her son.
And somehow, Ben had kept it.
He looked at me and smiled.
“But I think my job is done now.”
I didn’t understand.
