Leo finally turned to face her. His hands were shaking.
Mira walked closer, her shadow falling across the screen.
On screen, the out-of-focus woman turned toward the camera. Mira’s breath caught. The face was her mother’s — Leo’s late wife, Nina — but slightly wrong. The eyes were Mira’s.
“You used my face?” she whispered.
“You came,” he said.
Leo didn’t answer. The film continued. Young Leo was leaving. Packing a suitcase. Nina — or the ghost of her — stood in the doorway and said, “You don’t write about us because you’re afraid. You write about us because it’s the only way you know how to stay.”
“You said it was the last screening.” She didn’t sit. “You always say that.”
