“Excuse me,” Justin spoke up, getting the attention of the receptionist seated behind the desk at the entrance to the Assisted Living facility. “We’re here to see Molly Stevenson.”

The woman at the desk made both gentlemen sign the guest register before asking a staff member to escort them to Mrs. Stevenson’s third-floor room.  

“Molly, you have visitors,” the woman announced before leaving the guests to enter the well-furnished, albeit small, resident room.

The elderly woman seated on the couch inside turned down the volume on the television set she'd been watching and turned to greet the new arrivals. She paused, looking up at the two men standing in the middle of her room with confusion for at least two full minutes. Then she calmly set aside the remote control she’d been holding and waved the visitors further into the room.

“Please, have a seat,” Molly offered, indicating the two chairs across the coffee table from her couch. “And then you can explain who the devil you are and why you’re the spitting image of my brother . . . who was killed three-quarters of a century ago.”

Justin had thought long and hard about what he’d say to Molly when this time came. He’d come up with an elaborate lie about how he was the grandson of some wartime fling Molly’s brother had had while in London. But as he sat there across from his sister in the flesh, he simply couldn’t lie to her.

“It’s me, Mollusk. Justin,” he replied, using the pet name he’d always called her as a child.

“I see . . .” Molly answered noncommittally. “And who would this be then?” She nodded at the man who’d taken the seat next to Justin.

“This is my husband, Brian Kinney,” Justin explained, giving Brian a Sunshine smile.

“Husband?” Molly asked to clarify.

“Yes. We were just married last month, here in Pittsburgh.”

“I see,” she repeated. Then she took off her glasses, picked up a cloth sitting on a nearby table, wiped at both lenses and then put the spectacles back on again. “Well, unless I’m dreaming or have finally gone senile, you certainly do look like my Justin. So, I would assume you must have quite a story to tell. Best get on with it already, I think.”

And so Justin, with a lot of help from Brian, told his sister the whole, amazing, story from start to finish. At first, of course, Molly was skeptical, but as the story unfolded, she gradually thawed. By the end, Justin seemed to have talked her round.

“I wanted to come see you as soon as we got back to the states but I didn’t know what to say. I know this all sounds fantastical and a bit crazy. And I hope you’re not angry at me for abandoning you . . .” Justin said when they were finished explaining.

“Pshaw! Don’t think about it. I can’t hardly fault you for doing what you thought you had to or for following your heart. I’d probably have done the same. Besides, you're my brother and I love you,” Molly declared. “And, you know what, mother always did say how she didn’t think you were really dead. She even wrote you a letter and said as how I should give it to you if we ever met up again. I thought she was a little touched at the time, but . . .” Molly got up and rifled through the small secretary desk in the corner for a minute before she apparently found what she’d been looking for. “Here it is.” She handed the letter over and then sat down again. “So, what are we going to tell everybody when I introduce you two to the family at my birthday dinner next week? I’m turning 86 you know, and you’re both required to be there to celebrate.”

10 July 1961

Dearest Justin,

Today marks twenty years since I lost you. Not a single day goes by where I don’t think about you and what a wonderful young man you would have turned out to be. I know without a doubt that you would have gone on to do amazing things with your life.

So much has changed in these twenty years. We lost your father three years ago to a heart attack, and Molly is now a grown woman, married and with her own children. Molly’s children are just wonderful and have made me into the kind of doting grandmother you would probably cringe at. I see so much of you in Molly, as well as in your nieces and nephew, that watching them all grow up has sometimes been as painful as it has been joyous. And while that joy has never completely erased the pain I still feel at not having you in our lives anymore, it has had its compensations. We have all had very good lives despite our moments of grief.

But I write today, Justin, not to mourn the fact that you’re no longer part of our lives, but to thank you. In those few precious years, we were lucky enough to have had together, you taught me more than I could have ever imagined and I will be forever grateful for that. You taught me what it was to be a better mother and an overall better person. From you, I learned to be more tolerant and accepting. I strove to be as strong and brave as you always were. And, with the example of your generosity to show me the way, I was challenged to give back to others that might not have had a life as easy as the one I was granted. I hope I’ve become the kind of woman you would’ve been proud of, Justin; as much as I was always proud of you.

I want you to know, that I never gave up on you, Justin. I have never stopped trying to find out exactly what happened that fateful night back in 1941. Something about your story has never quite added up to me - call it mother’s intuition - but it’s what encouraged me to start up the charity I created dedicated to all the parents that have lost their children to war. It’s something I take great pride in, and I hope that if you had seen the good we’ve done, you would feel the same.

I know you will probably never read this letter but, just in case my intuition is correct and you’re still out there somewhere, just know that you are always in my heart.

Your loving mother, forever.