“No,” Pearl whispered.“She never talked about having kids.Ever.”
The next photo was Bernice holding a baby.
Then another with Bernice sitting on the porch of some old cabin, baby on her lap, with sunlight in her hair.
More photos followed, showing the baby as it grew, still young, still small, always clinging to Bernice’s hand or sitting on her hip.
“She had a girl,” Pearl whispered, voice trembling.
I grabbed another stack of photos from a nearby box and flipped through them one by one.The images blurred together until I stopped breathing.
There.
Right there.
My world tipped sideways.
It was my mother.
My actual mother.
Thirty years younger, smiling, with her head thrown back, and her hair tumbled down her shoulders in wild curls.
My mouth dropped open.“No.No, no, no, this… this can’t be—”
Pearl looked over, confused.“Shay?”
I couldn’t answer.The room felt hot.Too hot.
Why the hell did Bernice have a picture of my mother?
Why was my mother standing in front of that same old cabin Bernice was photographed in?
My heart beat so hard I could hear it pounding in my ears.
Pearl grabbed the photo from my shaking hand.“Do you know her?”she asked.
“My mom,” I whispered, voice breaking.
Prime must’ve been listening to us because he stepped inside instantly.“Lost, stay at the door,” he ordered without looking back.
Lost shifted his weight and planted himself in the doorway like a human barricade.
Prime crouched beside me, his hand brushing my knee.“What happened?What’s going on?”
I handed him the picture.My fingers felt numb.“That’s my mom.”
He stared at the photo a long moment.
The woman in the picture, my mother, was young, smiling wide, wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top.She leaned against a birch tree with painted nails and bare feet.She looked free.Happier than I’d ever seen her in real life.
Prime lifted his gaze slowly to me.“Yeah.I can see it.”
The room spun.
I reached for the next picture in the stack, my hands barely cooperating.
Another cabin.Another day.
