Proof The Bible Is True

It was them. I was sure. I caught my breath.

 

My husband and I were out to dinner, and when I looked up from my menu I saw them, intensely familiar and yet different. They were older now, the strain of years showing, but those faces had burned themselves into my memory. “That’s them,” I said. “The happy couple.”

 

My husband looked at me, nonplussed. For about half a year I’d stared at pieces of this couple’s life, photos in an old album. We’d found it in the gutter on a street by our house. A handsome young man at his high school graduation. A dark-haired, exotic beauty winking at the camera. Their backyard wedding. Babies growing into toddlers, playing with grandparents. It was the story of a happy family. No one could have meant to throw away these precious moments.

 

If only I could find these people, I thought. And yet where to start? I had no idea. So I kept the album, thumbed through it from time to time, wondering.

 

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