A knock on my window startled me. Outside stood an older man with a gray beard, worn boots, and tired eyes. He looked like someone who had spent years wandering forgotten roads.
When I admitted I wasn’t okay, he simply asked if I had a spare tire. After I opened the trunk, he replaced the tire quickly and quietly without asking any questions.
When he finished, he wiped his hands on a rag and looked at me sadly. Then he said, “Take care now, Margaret.”
My heart stopped. I had never told him my name. Before I could stop him, he walked toward the trees. Back in my car, I found a Polaroid on the passenger seat—a photo of Daniel. Written beneath it was an address and my name-
