Chapter 5: Questions With Sharp Edges

Crystal had always believed her world was small.

Not small in a bad way—just contained. A cottage near the edge of the village. A church bell that rang every morning. Neighbours who knew her name and corrected her when she spoke too fast. A mother who loved her fiercely. A grandfather who told stories until his voice trembled.

That had been enough.

Until the foreign man arrived.

Now the world felt like it had cracked open just slightly—enough to let something unfamiliar seep in.

Crystal sat on the low stone wall near the marketplace, legs swinging back and forth as she watched the village buzz with activity. Drums echoed faintly from the square. Vendors shouted prices. Children ran past her in clouds of dust and laughter.

And there he was again.

The daddy stranger.

He stood near the elders, tall and unmistakable, his presence commanding without him trying. His clothes were too clean for the village, his posture too straight. He listened more than he spoke, but when he did speak, people leaned in.

Crystal noticed how often his eyes drifted toward her.

Not in a scary way.

In a careful way.

She licked sugar from her fingers and tilted her head. Why does he look like he’s afraid I’ll disappear?

“Crystal!”

She turned at the sound of her name and saw Auntie Ruth waving her over. Ruth was arranging baskets of produce, her face tight with concentration.

Crystal hopped down and ran to her.

“Auntie Ruth,” she said brightly, “do you know the daddy stranger?”

The woman’s hands paused mid-movement.

Just a pause. Small. Almost invisible.

But Crystal saw it.

“Why do you ask?” Ruth said carefully.

“He keeps smiling at me,” Crystal replied. “Like he knows me.”

Ruth forced a laugh. “Some people are friendly.”

Crystal frowned, folding her arms. “It’s not that kind of smile.”

“Oh?”

“He smiles with his eyes,” Crystal said simply.

Ruth’s chest tightened.

Children, she thought, were terrifying.

Across the market, Ethan felt it again—that strange pull in his chest. He looked up instinctively and found Crystal staring directly at him now, unashamed, curious.

For a second, he froze.

Then she waved.

It was small. Casual. Innocent.

It shattered him.

His hand lifted before he could think, returning the wave. Her face lit up, and something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in his chest.

So this is what I missed.

He didn’t see Amara at first.

But she saw everything.

From the edge of the market, Amara watched the exchange like it was unfolding in slow motion. Her breath caught painfully in her throat as Crystal laughed and waved.

And Ethan waved back.

Her feet moved before her mind could catch up.

She crossed the market with purpose, her expression unreadable, her heart racing. She grabbed Crystal’s wrist gently but firmly and pulled her close.

“I told you not to wander,” Amara said, keeping her voice steady.

“I wasn’t wandering,” Crystal protested. “I was helping Auntie Ruth.”

Amara nodded stiffly, then looked up.

Her eyes collided with Ethan’s.

The warning was silent but sharp.

Don’t.

Ethan didn’t look away.

I won’t leave.

The tension stretched, thick and unspoken, until Amara turned abruptly and walked away with Crystal.

Ethan watched them go.

And for the first time in ten years, something close to fear settled in his chest.

That evening, the cottage felt too small.

Amara paced while Ruth sat at the table, hands folded tightly in her lap.

“You talked,” Amara said finally, stopping short.

Ruth exhaled slowly. “I didn’t tell her anything.”

“But you almost did.”

“Yes,” Ruth admitted. “Because she’s asking questions.”

“She’s a child,” Amara snapped. “Children ask questions about everything.”

“And adults lie to make themselves comfortable,” Ruth replied quietly.

Amara turned away, gripping the edge of the window. “I did what I had to do.”

“I know,” Ruth said softly. “You were scared. Alone. Pregnant. He was powerful. You were invisible.”

Amara’s shoulders sagged slightly.

“But that little girl,” Ruth continued, “has his eyes. His way of looking at the world. She deserves to know where she comes from.”

“She deserves peace,” Amara whispered. “Not confusion. Not a man who can leave whenever he wants.”

“Do you really believe he would?” Ruth asked.

Amara didn’t answer.

That scared her.

Later that night, the cottage was quiet. Too quiet.

Crystal lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to her mother’s soft footsteps moving restlessly in the other room.

Something was wrong.

She felt it in her bones.

Carefully, she slipped out of bed and crept toward her mother’s old wooden trunk—the one she was never allowed to touch.

The lid creaked as she lifted it.

Inside were folded clothes that smelled like time. Old letters tied with ribbon. Photographs she didn’t recognize.

And at the bottom—

An empty space.

Her small fingers traced the outline in the dust, shaped like something precious that used to live there.

“Something’s missing,” she whispered.

A strange ache filled her chest.

She didn’t know what she’d lost.

Only that it mattered.

Miles away, Ethan sat alone in the temporary office provided for him, the village quiet outside his window. The necklace lay on the desk, glinting faintly under the light.

Ten years.

Ten years, and fate had handed him his past with curls and questions.

He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening.

“I won’t disappear again,” he said into the silence.

This time, the storm wasn’t coming.

It had already arrived.