We placed it on the table.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then I opened it.
On top was a folded child’s blanket embroidered with yellow stars.
Beneath it lay dozens of photographs.
I picked up the first.
A woman with long brown hair sat on the cabin steps, holding a baby. Beside her stood a smiling man and two older children.
On the back, someone had written:
Our last summer before everything changed.
The next photograph showed the same baby asleep against the woman’s chest.
The next showed Carl—much younger, perhaps twenty—holding the baby beside the lake.
The handwriting on the back read:
Carl and his favorite little troublemaker, Claire.
The photograph slipped from my fingers.
“No,” I whispered.
Daniel pulled out a chair for me, but I remained standing.
There were more photographs.
Carl feeding me with a spoon.
Carl carrying me on his shoulders.
