I found my way easily back to the Musée d’Orsay, despite the fact that I’d only been there once before, my first day in Paris. The first day I’d met Sebastian.

I’d always been good with directions, able to find my way no matter where I was. My friends used to joke that I had an internal compass built into my brain.

At the entrance, I asked the gentleman at the booth whether Sebastian was inside.

“He’s in the Cezanne hall, to your right.”

I went to hand him the payment for my ticket but he waved it away.

“No payment for a friend of Sebastian,” he said.

I thanked him and entered the museum, blinking at the sudden change from bright sun to dim lighting.

As I turned into the Cezanne hall, looking past the throngs of people, I caught a glimpse of someone who looked like Sebastian. But no, that couldn’t be him. The man I saw held a small child in his arms, a girl with golden curls. A blond woman had her arm around his waist.

Suddenly the man turned and looked right at me. It was him, it was Sebastian.