A woman. Same brown hair. Same green eyes. Same face.
But older. Maybe fifty.
"Her name was Elena," he said. "She was my mother. She died when I was fifteen."
Bree and I exchanged looks.
"You've been dating women who look like your dead mother?"
"I've been looking for her my whole life. In every face, every crowd. And then I found the app, and I found you." He looked at Bree. "And then you." He looked at me. "Two women who could be her twins."
"That's insane," I whispered.
"Maybe. But when I'm with you, I feel close to her again. Like she never left."