When David arrived, she barely recognized him. His hair had thinned and grayed; the confident posture she remembered was gone. He held his hat in both hands like a man at confession. “You look well,” he said, voice tentative. “You should come in,” she answered, gesturing toward the living room.
They watched the footage together. David leaned forward, studying the blurry image, brows knitting. “That’s not me,” he said softly. “I swear, Ellen. Look, the build, the height… it’s someone smaller.” His tone wasn’t defensive. It was weary, honest, and oddly compassionate. Ellen’s anger wavered.