Lizzie’s eyes filled, though her voice stayed steady.
“There were twenty years of it.”
Kayla had no answer.
Neither did I.
Sometimes there is no sentence powerful
enough to repair what someone chose not to do.
Part 10 — The Picture on My Mantel
A few weeks later, the photographs arrived.
Jennifer brought the envelope over.
We sat together at my kitchen table while she opened it.
There were dozens.
Formal poses.
Smiling grandchildren.
Graham with his children.
Kayla standing among people who were now beginning to understand a very different version of her past.
Then Jennifer pulled out the large group photograph.
I stared at it.
The three of us were on one side.
Jennifer.
Lizzie.
Me.
We were laughing.
Not posing.
Not forcing smiles.
Actually laughing.
Across the photograph, Kayla wasn’t looking at the camera.
She was looking at us.
Something about that image made my chest ache.
