“Frank?” The name escaped her before she could swallow it.
The stooped figure shambling along the hall slowly raised his head, rheumy blue eyes looking straight at her—but without recognition.
Suddenly shy, Helen tugged at her dress. Time hadn’t been kind to her. She’d grown old: skin dry and mottled, hair streaked with white, no longer a dancer’s tight body.
Then his face crinkled into a grin, showing teeth too even to still be his own. “Helen.”
She smiled back, happily. It had taken Fate forty years to bring their paths together again, but finally the circle was complete.
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