My mom, smiling again, helda baby swaddled in a pale blanket.And standing next to her was Bernice.
Bernice, younger but still unmistakably Bernice, with her arm around my mom’s shoulders, looking proud.
My breath left me in a single, painful whoosh.
Pearl sucked in a gasp.“Oh my god…”
My fingers shook as I flipped the photo over.
There, scribbled in black ink, was a date.
1999.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“No,” I whispered, chest tightening.“No, this, this can’t be.”
“Shay,” Prime said gently as his hand moved to my back.“Breathe.”
“It can’t be,” I choked out.“This isn’t… that’s not me.That baby, it can’t be me.”
“Shay…” Pearl said softly, “look.”
“Look at what?”My voice was raw.
“Your mom.”Pearl held the photo up next to my face.“Same eyes.Same mouth.Same shape.”
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to deny it.
But my throat closed around the truth.
Prime took the photo and studied it carefully.
And then he looked at me.
His voice was quiet.Unshakable.“It’s you.”
I felt my stomach drop.
He set that photo aside and lifted one of Bernice holding the baby.“Look at this one.”
Bernice was young, maybe late forties, early fifties, holding baby me with a tenderness that went beyond caretaker.Beyond friend.
Pearl scooted closer, and her shoulder touched mine.“Shay… you look like her.”
“What?”My voice cracked.
“Look.”She handed me the picture of Bernice again.This one with her laughing.“Your cheekbones.Your nose.Your jawline.You… you resemble her.Just—”
“With red hair,” Prime finished for her.
My heartbeat rattled in my chest.
My vision blurred.
“Holy shit.”My voice didn’t sound like mine.“If… if that’s my mom, and if Bernice is with her, and if she’s holding a baby—”
