One Man and a Promise He Honored

My knees almost gave out.

It felt like the air left my body.

I had seen Destiny once, in a single photograph my lawyer had slipped me. A blurry image of a tiny face and a hospital bracelet. I’d stared at it until the corners curled, until the paper softened from my fingers.

But a photo is not a baby.

A photo doesn’t breathe.

A photo doesn’t have weight.

This was real.

The man lifted his eyes to me and spoke first.

“Marcus Williams?” he asked in a rough but gentle voice.

All I could do was stare at Destiny.

My throat worked. No sound came out.

“My name is Thomas Crawford,” he said. “I was with your wife when she died.”