"Does Arlo Gonzaga live here?" asked the woman now standing in front of me. I froze and stared at her. Then I looked at the child she was carrying, and back at her. Who was she? Why was she looking for my husband?
"Miss? Did you hear me?" she asked again. It was as if I snapped out of a trance, and I gave her a small smile.
"Sorry, I was just surprised," I replied. "Arlo Gonzaga doesn’t live here. His father does. If you’re looking for Arlo, he already boarded a ship for work." I saw the surprise on her face. I was curious—who was she in my husband’s life? It was impossible for her to be his sibling; he’s an only child. Maybe a relative?
"He boarded a ship?" she asked in disbelief, and I nodded. "But he didn’t tell me he was leaving. That explains why I haven’t seen him for months," she
