The path leading to Tomas's farm was lined with wildflowers swaying in the breeze.
Dew still clung to the grass, and the sun sat low behind the hills, turning everything gold.
Billy and Artur walked side by side, the silence between them soft, not awkward—filled with thoughts too deep for small talk.
Billy kicked a pebble on the road, hands shoved in his pockets. "I didn't think he'd look so... normal," he said after a while. "Mr. Frank. I thought he'd show up angry. Yelling."
Artur glanced at him. "He didn't. He looked relieved. Like someone who finally found what he lost."
Billy kept his eyes ahead. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. It's weird. I know he cares, but... I don't remember him. Not really. He talks like I'm someone I don't know."
"You're not the only one feeling lost in this," Artur said gently. "He came all this way for you.
Maybe he doesn't expect you to remember everything at once. Maybe he just wants to know you're okay."
