The cafe sidewalk was loud with the kind of life that never stops for anyone.

present: the same mouth his daughter had as an infant, the same brow, the same small quiet stubbornness.

His hand moved unsteadily toward his chest, where beneath his shirt, kept hidden for years, he still wore the other half of the moon.

The boy’s lips trembled.

“She said if the baby made your foot move,” he whispered, “then you were the one she wrote continue reading …