Daniel looks at him, then at me.
– My father’s brother.
I blinked puzzled.
– Your uncle?
Michael was smiling sadly.
That’s how you were
taught to believe.
Daniel was tightening his jaw.
– Tell Her.
Michael took out of his pocket an old wallet and, from him, a bent photo.
He’s stretching it out.
In the photo were two young men.
One was Daniel’s father.
The other was Michael.
They looked striking.
On the back of the photo was handwritten:
“Robert and Michael, 1992.”
“You were brothers,” I said.
– Yes.
Daniel sits down.
“My father told me that Michael died in an accident when I was ten years old.
Michael rubbed his forehead.
That was simpler than the truth.
Then he raises his eyes to Daniel.
