The woman spoke hesitantly, “His name’s George. We’ve been married for ten years.” Ten years. The same amount of time Emily had been married to Luke. The floor beneath her seemed to give way, and for a moment, Emily thought she might collapse right there. How was this possible?
How could this man look so much like Luke, yet not be him? How could this be happening? Emily ran. Her feet pounded the floor, her heart racing with every step, her mind a blur of disbelief. She didn’t even know where she was going, but her legs carried her instinctively through the crowded corridors.
She didn’t stop until she reached the staff lounge again, where Peter was seated, sipping a soda and half-scanning the evening duty schedule. She nearly collapsed into him. “Emily!” Peter sprang to his feet, alarmed. “What happened?” “It’s him, Peter,” she panted.
“Luke. He’s here. He’s alive. I saw him, and he was with another woman. And he said his name is George, but it’s him. I swear to you, it’s him.” Peter held her shoulders. “Emily, slow down—” “I’m not making this up,” she said, her voice firm, though her face was crumbling. “You have to come with me. Just look at him, and then tell me I’m wrong.”