slid it across the linen toward me.
I looked down.
Every drop of blood drained from my face.
I’d seen that photograph before, but I hadn’t laid eyes on it in three decades.
My voice barely came out.
“How…” I whispered. “How do you have this ?”
A blue satin dress. A boy in a rented tuxedo. A gymnasium banner blurred behind us.
My prom photo.
“That’s me,” he said, tapping the boy in the tuxedo. “I’m Peter.”
The room narrowed to a pinpoint. Peter. My high school sweetheart. The boy
