They sat in the car for a long moment, the photograph between them, the engine idling. The road was quiet, a stretch of suburban asphalt lined with trees, the afternoon light falling through the leaves in shifting patterns. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. A car passed, slowed, moved on. The world continued its ordinary rhythm, indifferent to the shift that had just occurred.
Aaron stared at the photograph. His father's face looked back at him — younger than he had ever seen it, the features familiar from old albums and faded memories. The same jawline, the same way of holding his head. The woman beside him was unknown, her smile bright, her hand resting on his father's arm with an ease that suggested intimacy. She was beautiful in a way that was not conventional — her face asymmetrical, her nose slightly crooked, her eyes holding something that looked like laughter.
"Your father," Sophie said. It was not a question.
"My father."
"And the woman?"
