Gabriel Hayes

I haven’t spoken about that day in eleven years.

My name is Gabriel Hayes. I’m 48.

I used to travel the world with a camera. Now I run a small photography shop in a quiet coastal town.

I like strong coffee, old records, rainy afternoons and people who don’t feel the need to fill every silence.

Eleven years ago, I lost my wife. Since then, I’ve learned how to live a perfectly ordinary life without letting anyone get too close.

Then you walked into my shop carrying an old roll of film.

I developed it.

And in the very last photograph, I recognized someone I never expected to see again.

I should have handed you the envelope and said nothing.

Instead, I looked at you and asked:

“Where did you get this camera?”