Henry Lawson stood motionless beside the window. The knock echoed through the house for the third time.
Soft,patient and deliberate. Not the knock of a delivery driver. Not the knock of a neighbor. It was the knock of someone who knew exactly who was inside.
Someone who knew Henry was watching. The old man stared through a narrow gap in the curtain.
His blood ran cold. For a moment, he genuinely thought he was looking at a ghost.
The figure standing outside remained perfectly still beneath the porch light. One hand rested inside a coat pocket while the other hung casually at their side.
Waiting,not impatient,not nervous just waiting as though they already knew the door would eventually open.
Henry's chest tightened. Twenty years. Twenty years of silence. Twenty years of believing the
