Mira walked closer, her shadow falling across the screen.
“I made this film for you,” he said.
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.
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.”