He hurried along the city streets, the snowflakes beginning to cling to his hair, giving him an odd appearance, as though he had suddenly aged during the last few minutes. Pulling the collar of his expensive overcoat up around his chin, he thought of the log fire blazing away welcoming his return home. The house would be festooned with decorations. in traditional reds, greens, and golds, tastefully chosen and hung by his wife, Cynthia, who each festive season would shop only at Dinghams. It was, in her considered opinion, the only decent store in town It was also the most expensive.

Involuntarily, his hand went to his pocket reassuring himself that the package was safe. He was fortunate to have managed to catch the jewellers before they closed. The sapphire necklace was bound to please her, he thought, as he took out the solid gold cigarette case, selected a cigarette, then, reaching in his pocket once more for his lighter his hand touched something. Its familiar shape made him smile. It was a smile tinged with wistfulness. His eyes rested on the small object now lying in the palm of his hand. It was a child's gold bracelet.

Memories came flooding back, the old familiar pain began in his chest. For a brief moment his mind held her as if looking at a photograph...... she had been a beautiful child, everyone had said so. Their lives had been touched by an angel, people said. Now she was no longer with them.

Slowly, returning the bracelet to his coat pocket, he flicked the lighter, held the cigarette to its flame, and drew on it. A movement caught his eye, his head turned inquiringly. A young woman standing staring in a shop window was trying frantically to clasp a cheap shopping bag whilst attempting to hold a small girl in her arms. He instinctively began to move towards them as the bag began to slip from the young woman's grasp. The sound of it hitting the pavement served to halt his movement momentarily, then his hand was reaching out to retrieve it.

Straightening up, smiling politely, his eyes fell on the child.

In that single moment time stood still. He remembered Cynthias voice telling him the news, and a voice in his head telling him it couldn't be true. The police had called off the search but would be continuing with their enquiries. They would, naturally, inform them if they had any further information. He remembered the weight of despair in his heart and how the light had gone from their world along with their beautiful child........ the child with the laughing eyes and the red curls.

Slowly he put out his hand as if to touch the child's hair, but stopped, transfixed, staring at a mark on her right temple. Could it be? Was he dreaming? He'd been under extreme stress lately, it was true, and Cynthia's health hadn't been so good these last few years, and even though they were comfortably off now they both knew that they could never fill the empty space in their lives created by the loss of their beloved daughter.

"Thank you so much for your help, you're very kind", the young woman smiled, her hand moving forward to take possession of the bag. A sudden gust of wind lifted her hair away from her face as she turned to leave, exposing a tiny crescent-shaped mark. It was clearly visible on her right temple.

He opened his mouth, tried to speak, though no words came out. The young woman was now wearing an enquiring expression which turned rapidly to one of concern as she saw his features turn ashen. His eyes were staring wildly now, firstly at her, then at the child. He was aware of an excruciating pain gripping his heart. It was unlike the one he had carried around with him these past nineteen years.

"Did you know the gentleman, Miss?", the policeman enquired, taking out a black notebook.

"No. He was simply helping me when he had some kind of seizure. I'm sorry I can't help you further."

As the small crowd of curious onlookers dispersed, the ambulance slowly made it's way along the now deserted streets. A sliver of light shone onto his face, highlighting a birthmark above his right eye. It resembled the shape of the new moon floating above in the cloudless sky, from which snowflakes began once more to gently fall .............