“Then why are you saying this?”
“Because you do not know who I am.”
A nervous murmur moved through the chapel.
I searched his face.
“What does that mean?”
He reached into his tuxedo and pulled out an old photograph.
It showed two boys standing side by side.
They looked almost identical.
Same blonde hair, same green eyes, and same narrow face.
One boy had his arm around the other.
On the back, written in faded ink, were two names.
Leo and Jake.
My stomach dropped.
He pointed to the boy on the right.
“This is Leo.”
Then he touched his own chest.
“My name is Jake.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
His face collapsed.
“Monica—”
“No.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The blonde curls.
The eyes and the smile.
