Alberta Street, with its murals, old trees, and unhurried pedestrians, felt like another universe compared to glass towers and boardrooms. He stepped out of the car with irritation tightening his jaw, already planning calls he’d make to salvage the wasted hours. Then it happened—that strange pull in his chest, like a memory he hadn’t invited suddenly knocking. He slowed without understanding why, his gaze drifting to a café window glowing with warm light.

Inside, laughter. Color. Life. And then he saw her. Nia. Six years vanished in an instant. She looked older, yes, but in a way that spoke of depth rather than exhaustion. Her curls were pinned up loosely, a few strands escaping around her face just as they always had when she cooked on weekends. She leaned toward three small children clustered around the table, her posture instinctively protective, loving. And the children—God—the children looked like they had stepped out of his own reflection. His heart lurched violently. The dimples. The cheekbones. The familiar tilt of the head. He felt dizzy, as if the ground beneath him had shifted, exposing a truth too massive to process all at once.