my father had written years ago. One had my name on it.
“I found these with the photographs. I wanted to put them at the end of the album.”
My hands began trembling for a completely different reason. I sat down on the bed and looked around the room. For weeks, every strange detail had made me imagine the worst.
Mom sat beside me.
“I know what you thought.”
I lowered my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t apologize for checking on your child. If something feels wrong, you check. I’m the one who made everything look suspicious.”
Ben looked at us impatiently.
“Can I get dressed now?”
Mom and I looked at each other and finally laughed.
Three weeks later, she gave me the finished album. On the last page were two photographs side by side. In one, my father was five
