The Other You
Twelve years ago your twin walked out of the house three days after your shared eighteenth birthday and never came back. The police called it a runaway inside three months. Your mother stopped saying their name. You built a life around the gap. Then a stranger posts you a photograph: your twin, thirty years old, laughing at something outside the frame in a market in Portland. They look well. They look settled. They look like somebody who has not been missing at all. Somebody in your family knows why, and has known the whole time.
