"That… is what you've both been looking for."
The words lingered like a quiet threat.
Amara couldn't breathe.
Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away from the child sitting there—small, calm, completely unaware of the storm surrounding them.
The way the child tilted their head.
The way their fingers moved as they drew.
Something about it felt familiar.
Too familiar.
"Zoom in," Amara whispered.
The woman in red didn't move.
"Please," Amara added, her voice breaking now.
A pause.
Then slowly…
The woman tapped the screen.
The image sharpened.
Closer.
Clearer.
Amara's hand flew to her mouth.
"No…" she breathed.
Her eyes filled instantly.
Because now she could see it.
The resemblance.
Not just to David.
But—
To herself.
David stepped closer, his expression tightening as he stared at the screen.
"That's not possible," he said under his breath.
But his voice carried doubt.
Because he saw it too.
The child looked like both of them.
Perfectly.
"How old is that child?" Amara asked, her voice trembling.
The woman's eyes flickered briefly.
"Old enough," she said.
"That's not an answer!" Amara snapped.
The woman remained calm.
"Five," she said finally.
Silence.
Everything stopped.
Five years.
Amara felt the ground shift beneath her.
That timeline…
It matched.
Exactly.
David ran a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven now.
"Where is this?" he asked, his voice tight.
The woman didn't answer.
Instead, she watched them.
Carefully.
Measuring.
"You said we've seen this child before," Amara said slowly. "When?"
The woman's lips curved slightly.
"You've been closer than you think," she replied.
Amara's heart pounded harder.
"Stop saying that," she said. "Say it clearly."
The woman tilted her head.
"Think," she said.
Amara shook her head.
"I don't have time for this," she said. "If that child is mine—if that child is ours—then you tell me where they are right now."
The woman's expression didn't change.
"Yours?" she repeated softly.
Amara froze.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
The woman stepped closer.
Her voice dropped.
"You're still assuming too much," she said.
David stepped in immediately.
"Enough," he said. "We're done guessing. You're going to tell us where that child is."
The woman looked at him.
Then said—
"You won't like the answer."
Silence.
"Try me," David replied.
A pause.
Then—
"She's in Winnipeg."
Amara's heart stopped.
"What?" she whispered.
The woman's gaze remained steady.
"She's been in Winnipeg," she continued.
Amara staggered back slightly.
"That's not possible," she said. "I would know."
The woman's expression sharpened.
"Would you?" she asked.
Amara's mind raced.
Winnipeg.
Faces flashed through her memory.
Places.
Moments.
Nothing made sense.
"Where in Winnipeg?" David asked, his voice now dangerously calm.
The woman didn't answer immediately.
Instead…
She tapped the screen again.
The image shifted.
A wider view of the room.
Amara leaned forward slightly.
Her heart pounding louder with every second.
Then—
She saw it.
A small detail in the background.
A logo.
On the wall.
Her breath caught instantly.
"No…" she whispered.
David frowned.
"What?" he asked.
Amara pointed at the screen, her hand shaking.
"That place…" she said.
Her voice trembled.
"I've been there."
Silence.
David turned to her sharply.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
Amara's eyes remained locked on the screen.
"It's a community center," she said slowly. "For kids…"
Her voice broke.
"I donated there last year."
The room fell silent.
Heavy.
Unbearable.
The woman watched them closely.
"You've seen her," she said quietly.
Amara's chest tightened painfully.
"No…" she whispered.
But the truth was already sinking in.
"More than once," the woman added.
Tears slipped down Amara's face.
"I didn't know," she said.
The woman didn't respond.
David turned sharply.
"Why?" he demanded. "Why keep the child there? Why not tell us?"
The woman's gaze shifted to him.
And this time…
There was no calm.
Only something raw.
"Because you don't deserve her," she said.
Silence.
The words hit hard.
David's expression darkened.
"That's not your decision," he said.
"No," she replied.
Then—
"It was yours."
The tension snapped.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.
The woman stepped closer.
Her voice low.
Cold.
"It means," she said…
"You chose what happened that night."
David froze.
"That's not true," he said immediately.
The woman held his gaze.
"Isn't it?" she asked.
Silence.
Because now…
Even he wasn't sure anymore.
Amara wiped her tears quickly.
"Take me there," she said suddenly.
Both of them turned to her.
"I want to see her," she continued.
Her voice was no longer shaking.
It was steady.
Determined.
"I'm not leaving this place without knowing the truth."
The woman watched her for a long moment.
Then—
She smiled.
Slowly.
"Good," she said.
Then added—
"Because that's exactly where this ends."
Amara's heart pounded harder.
Because something about that didn't feel right.
At all.