Every Monday, Edward bought two movie tickets but always sat alone. His quiet dignity and silver hair caught the light as he approached the counter. “Two tickets for the morning movie,” he’d say. Yet, the seat beside him remained empty.
Curiosity got the best of me. One day, I sat next to him. He noticed and smiled. “You’re not working today.” I admitted I wanted to know why he always bought two tickets. He sighed, then shared his story.
“Years ago, there was a woman named Evelyn. She worked here. We met here. Our story began here,” he said softly. He later learned she had been fired, and when he asked about her, he was told never to return. “Her name was Evelyn. That’s all I know.” I vowed to help him find her.
Our search led to my estranged father, the former theater manager. When I asked him about Evelyn, he hesitated. Then he revealed, “Her name wasn’t Evelyn.” She had hidden her real identity—she was my mother. On Christmas, we found her in a care home. When Edward whispered, “Evelyn,” her eyes lit up. It was a moment of recognition, and a new beginning for us all.
