A week later, as I was sorting through old family photos with Arthur, we stumbled upon a picture of his father with a woman we didn’t recognize. She was smiling, her eyes hidden behind large sunglasses, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Across her lap was a long, flowing dress.

“That’s strange,” Arthur muttered, frowning. “I don’t remember her.”

I moved closer to study the photo. Something about the woman’s expression sent a shiver through me. “Do you think it could be the woman Ben saw?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.