The sentence sounded simple.
But it struck like lightning.
The man went still.
His hand instinctively closed around his wrist. His eyes slowly lowered to the silver watch—the polished face, the faint scratch along the rim, the engraving on the back.
His breathing shifted.
He bent down slightly to look at the boy.
“What did you say?” the man asked, his voice suddenly uneven.
“My dad had the same watch,” the boy repeated. “He wore it every day.”
Silence settled between them.
The sounds of the hotel lobby seemed to disappear.
The man swallowed.
“Is…” his voice faltered. “Is your dad’s name Scott?”
The boy’s eyes grew wide.
“Yes.”
For illustration purposes only
The Man Who Never Forgot
The man took a small step back, as though the ground beneath him had shifted.
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