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I started zipping his puffy coat, my hands clumsy. The shame wasn’t loud; it was heavy — a quiet weight in the chest that makes you smaller.
“The same what?”
He pointed at the tiny brown dot beneath his left eye — his birthmark. “Like mine.”
I blinked. Then I looked up at the waitress, and my heart stuttered. There it was — a matching mark just beneath her right eye. Same size. Same place.
And it wasn’t just that. It was the tilt of her nose, the shape of her eyes, the way her mouth pinched when she concentrated. My breath caught.
Coincidences exist, sure. But sometimes… they don’t.
Outside, the wind had teeth. I was fastening Ben’s scarf when the café door flew open behind us.
“Ma’am—wait!” The waitress hurried out, apron still on, breath fogging the air. “Can I… can I talk to you? Alone?”
I told Ben to stay by the window. He pressed his palms to the glass, watching us with wide eyes.
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