Amber and Blake’s bedroom, a peculiar sight awaited: a neat stack of photo albums placed deliberately in the center of the floor where their bed had stood.
I recognized them immediately.
The carefully curated collection of Amber’s childhood photographs I’d assembled over years, documenting everything from first steps to law school graduation.
“She left your photo albums,” Helen observed, her tone unreadable.
“Take care of yourself until I get settled enough for you to visit.”
“Oh, I will,” she said, resilient as ever. “Alice Thompson and I are thinking of
