I tried to laugh it off, but I couldn’t. My mind was racing, trying to figure out how this was even possible. “Who told you?” I asked again, slower this time. But he just went back to playing like the conversation was over. Later that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That question wasn’t random. It was too specific. It referred to something I had buried deep. Something I had convinced myself no one would ever know. So I went into his room while he was asleep, just to check on him. Everything looked normal. But then I noticed something on his desk. A drawing. Two people standing outside… and one person walking away. I recognized the scene instantly. It was that night. The night I left. And when I asked him about the drawing the next morning, he said something that made my blood run cold. “I didn’t draw it,” he said. “He showed me.”
Can someone know your past… without you ever telling them?
