"Of course I remember!" Old Mrs. Sterling's eyes sparkled with clarity. "You wore that lovely red sweater in the certificate photo. Arthur thought it was too casual, but I told him it brought out the color in your cheeks."
My heart raced. A red sweater? That was specific—not something she'd likely invent.
"What else do you remember about that day?" I pressed gently.
She reached for my hand, her fingers warm against mine. "You were nervous, fidgeting with your necklace. Arthur stood so tall and serious next to you. Neither of you smiled for the photo. I thought to myself, 'These children need time.'"
I tried to picture it—standing beside Arthur in a red sweater, not smiling. Had it really happened? Before I could ask more, her expression clouded, and she glanced around the garden with sudden confusion.
"Are the daffodils blooming yet?" she asked, her voice drifting. "They're always so lovely in spring."
