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.
