Twenty years ago, I’d spent an entire weekend cutting my first love out of every photograph I owned. Then my daughter brought her new boyfriend home, and I nearly choked on my coffee. Because the young man standing beside her looked exactly like the man I’d spent two decades trying to forget.
“Mom, I’d like you to meet someone.”
I looked up from the kitchen table and nearly dropped my coffee mug. For a moment, I honestly thought I was seeing a ghost.
The young man standing beside my daughter shouldn’t have looked familiar. I’d never met him before. Yet something about his face stopped me cold. The shape of his jaw, the way he stood, even the slight smile that appeared when he looked at Maddy.
My stomach tightened.
No. It couldn’t be.
“Miles,” my daughter said, beaming. “This is my mom, Audrey.”
The young man stepped forward and offered his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I stared at him for a second too long before remembering how normal people behaved. Then I shook his hand. His grip was warm, confident, familiar.
Far too familiar.
Because 20 years earlier, I’d spent an entire weekend cutting one man out of every photograph I owned, and Miles looked exactly like him. Not identical. Not enough to be mistaken for the same person. But enough that memories I’d buried decades ago suddenly came rushing back. Memories I hadn’t invited. Memories I didn’t particularly want.
“Mom?”
Maddy’s voice pulled me back. I blinked. “Sorry.” I forced a smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”
For the rest of dinner, I kept catching myself staring. Every time Miles laughed. Every time he turned his head. Every time he smiled. It felt like watching fragments of the past move around my kitchen.
The resemblance wasn’t constant.
It came in flashes. A certain expression. A certain angle. A certain look. And every time it happened, my chest tightened.
By the time they left, I had a headache. I stood at the front door watching Maddy climb into his car, then watched the taillights disappear down the street.
Only after they were gone did I finally say the name out loud.
“Jack.”
The word felt strange after all those years.
I hadn’t spoken it in a very long time. Not because I’d forgotten him, but because I’d worked hard not to remember.
Twenty years earlier, Jack and I had been inseparable. At least, that’s what everyone thought, including me.
