Days after the incident, my mind kept circling back to that woman. The way she looked at me. The words she dropped like a puzzle piece I wasn’t ready to pick up.
“The man you think stabbed you… is not the one you think it is.”
I tried to ignore it, but the sentence kept scratching at my chest.
So one quiet afternoon, I sent Joshua to her place. I didn’t know what I expected—maybe clarity, maybe closure. But something told me she held a truth that belonged to me.
She arrived just before sunset.
The sky was turning orange, the wind cold enough to remind me of that night. She stood at the gate first, as if testing the air, then walked toward me slowly. Her hands were linked in front of her, her eyes shifting around my yard like she feared the truth might be hiding there too.
I kept my v
