Where were you?” Colby stood in the doorway spinning his car keys around one finger.

The annual Westbridge Autumn Harvest Festival took over the town square on a crisp Saturday in mid-October. The streets were lined with booths selling caramel apples, hand-carved pumpkins, freshly pressed apple cider, and local crafts.

Ivy and I spent the morning competing in the annual father-daughter pumpkin carving contest, walking away with first place for our intricate, gear-driven mechanical jack-o'-lantern whose eyes lit up with blinking LED lights whenever someone walked past.

“We’re practically professional pumpkin engineers now,” Ivy beamed, clutching her blue first-place ribbon like it was the Stanley Cup.

“Undefeated champions for two years running,” I agreed, lifting her onto my shoulders so she could get a better view of the marching band rounding the corner of Main Street.

As the brass instruments blared a cheerful marching tune, my eyes drifted across the bustling crowd. For a brief second, near the entrance to the farmers' market, I caught sight of two familiar figures standing near a bus stop bench.

It was Colby and Paige.

They looked worn down. Their clothes were cheap and ill-fitting, their shoulders slumped beneath heavy winter coats despite the crisp afternoon air. They looked like teenagers who had aged ten years in twelve months, burdened by the harsh reality of a world that didn’t care about their hollow boasts.

They turned their heads, and for an instant, their eyes locked onto mine across the crowded square.

I didn’t look away, but I didn’t wave, either. I didn’t feel anger, nor did I feel pity. I simply looked at them the way one might look at strangers passing by on a highway—distant, disconnected, and entirely irrelevant to my life.

Colby looked down at the pavement, pulling his collar up against the wind. Paige turned her face away, staring blankly at the bus schedule sign. Neither made a move to approach. They knew, with absolute clarity, that the bridge was burned to ash.

“Daddy, look! The caramel apple cart is open!” Ivy cheered, pointing excitedly toward a red-and-white striped tent nearby.

“Lead the way, engineer,” I smiled, pulling my gaze away from the past and stepping forward into the bright, festive sunlight.

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating sticky caramel apples, listening to bluegrass music, and laughing as we navigated the hay bale maze in the town park. When the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery shades of orange and purple, we walked hand-in-hand back to our car.