Alethea

I see a face that stops me in my tracks. It’s hauntingly familiar, a face that mirrors my son’s in so many ways—blonde hair and piercing green eyes.

He looks almost divine, like an ethereal being, too perfect to be real.

A shiver runs down my spine at the recognition. “Asher,” I whisper, the name slipping from my lips as if it has been waiting in the depths of my memory all this time.

The moment he hears me, he turns his back without hesitation, as if I don’t belong here.

My heart clenches as I instinctively stretch my hand toward him, desperate to stop him from leaving. But...