The moment I opened my front door, the air in my lungs turned to lead. My daughter, Emily, stood there with a radiant, nervous smile, her hand tucked into the arm of a man who looked like a ghost from my own youth. The jawline was broader, the hair flecked with silver at the temples, but those deep brown eyes were unmistakable. They were the eyes of the boy who had broken my heart twenty years ago.
Lena, meet Mark, Emily said, her voice filled with a pride that made my stomach churn.
I could barely manage a whisper. Mark?