Jordan stepped inside carrying a bakery box.
He was polite enough to shake my hand before I offered it.
“Mrs. Kaplan.”
“Doron is fine.”
“Thank you for having me.”
Up close, the resemblance was almost unsettling.
Not identical.
But enough that every smile tugged at memories I thought had faded years ago.
Then he slipped his backpack off his shoulder. The little blue teddy bear swung gently against the zipper.
This time, I wasn’t imagining it.
It was the same bear. The same crooked ear. The same mismatched button eyes.
And for the first time… I realized there was no innocent explanation left.
Dinner should have been awkward.
Instead, Jordan made it easy.
Within ten minutes, I understood why Stormy liked him.
He listened more than he talked, laughed easily, and somehow made everyone at the table feel included.
He listened.
Really listened.
When Stormy spoke, he looked at her instead of his phone.
When she teased him about carrying three different notebooks, he laughed at himself before laughing with her.
He was the kind of young man every mother hopes her daughter finds.
Then Jordan smiled at Stormy.
“My dad actually proposed once.”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.
Stormy looked delighted.
“Really?”
Jordan nodded.
“To my mom.”
I quietly let out the breath I’d been holding.
I hated myself for how quickly my mind had jumped somewhere else. Which somehow made the little blue bear even harder to ignore. Every few minutes it swung gently from the backpack resting beside his chair.
Finally, halfway through dessert, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I nodded toward the backpack.
“That’s an unusual keychain.”
Jordan glanced down and smiled.
“Oh, this?”
He unclipped the tiny teddy bear and placed it carefully on the table.
Stormy turned it over in her hands.
“One ear is crooked.”
Jordan smiled.
“Dad always joked the woman who made it got tired halfway through.”
I reached for it before I could stop myself.
My fingertips brushed the faded blue felt.
Then I saw it.
One blue button.
One green button.
The green one still had the tiny chip along its edge where I’d dropped it on my dorm room floor before sewing it on.
Every last doubt disappeared.
I wasn’t looking at a copy. I was holding the little bear I’d made for Richard two decades earlier.
