The Rest of My Life, Without You
"Later, during a gang clash, someone said they saw Elma killed in the crossfire."
I sat there quietly, struck by the coldness of fate, by how easily people turned on each other when the light went out.
The wind chime at the door jingled softly. The front door opened.
Tony stood there.
When our eyes met, it felt as if time folded back on itself.
"It's been a long time," I said first.
He nodded slightly. "Yeah. A long time."
He looked different now—steadier, older, the edges of his youth worn down by time and loss. There was a quiet gravity about him, and in his eyes, something unreadable.