Chapter 2: The Boy In The Photograph
Part 2 ⬇️
My hands wouldn't move.
A hundred and six people were watching me hold a photograph face-down at my own wedding, and I couldn't make my fingers turn it over.
"Leo." My voice came out wrong.
"What is this?"
He didn't answer.
His jaw was tight.
His eyes were wet.
My maid of honour, Diane, took one step toward the altar.
The priest hadn't moved.
I turned the photograph over.
It was a little boy and a little girl.
Maybe five years old.
Standing in front of a house I recognised — Leo's old house, three doors down.
The girl had a gap in her front teeth and pigtails.
It was me.
But the boy wasn't Leo.
I looked up at him.
"Who is this?"
"That's me," he said quietly.
"The real me."
The room shifted.
Someone in the back row made a sound.
"I wasn't the boy you knew, Monica." His voice broke on my name.
"Leo was.
Leo was my brother.
He d*ed two years after we moved.
I've been carrying his name ever since because I didn't know how else to come back to you."
My grandmother's veil felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
"Then who are you?"
He opened his mouth.
And that's when the church doors opened.
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What Monica learned next — and who walked through those doors — changes everything.
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