And he was wearing my son’s jacket.

Not a similar one — the exact same jacket Daniel had worn the morning he disappeared.

I knew immediately because of the guitar-shaped patch covering a torn sleeve. I had sewn that patch myself. I also recognized the small paint stain on the back when the man turned to order tea.

I pointed toward him. “Add that man’s tea and a bun to my order.”

The barista glanced at him, then nodded.

The old man turned toward me. “Thank you, ma’am, you’re so—”

“Where did you get that jacket?”

He looked down at it. “A boy gave it to me.”

“Brown hair? About sixteen?”

He nodded.

Just then the barista handed him his order. A businessman and a woman in a skirt stepped between us. When I moved around them, the old man had already disappeared.

I scanned the café and spotted him stepping onto the sidewalk.

“Wait, please!” I hurried after him.

I tried catching up, but the sidewalk was crowded. People moved aside for him, but I struggled to push through.

After two blocks, I realized something strange.