“I think you might like this.” He held a black album. Resting on top of it was a silver frame.

Coming up next to him, my chest tightened as I saw what was in the frame. It was a picture of my family before the accident, happy and smiling. Dad had his arm around my shoulders and Mom held a squirming three-year-old Olivia in her lap. I reached for them wordlessly, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the album. My eyes remained glued to the picture in the frame. It’d sat beside my bed, and I’d believed that these picturesthese memorieswere forever lost.

“Liz went through the boxes we had in storage and gathered up the pictures,” Cromwell explained. “She put them in this photo album for you and Olivia.”

My hands shook as I brought the album and frame to my chest, holding them close. Slowly, I lifted my eyes and met his. Cromwell smiled tightly and looked away. “Thank you,” I whispered, voice hoarse.

Cromwell nodded.

There was nothing else to say. I turned and carried my precious bundle upstairs. I set the picture on the table beside the bed, my fingers lingering on the polished silver for a few seconds. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I opened up the album and started thumbing through the innocent, joyful years captured in the images.

Some of the pictures made me smile, like the ones of baby Olivia with her face beet-red, lips pulled open in a silent wail. And the ones of Dad and me making funny faces at the camera. Or my mom trying to cook, which always had been a humorous endeavor. But the photos also opened up a raw ache deep within my chest. I came to another picture at the back of the album and a burning rose in my throat. It was just the three of us: my parents and me, sitting in a pile of golden leaves, smiling blissfully.

We’d been a real family once. Sometimes I forgot that.

I slid the picture out of the clear plastic film, running my thumb over my dad’s ruggedly handsome face. The burning in the back of my throat took over and tears spilled down my cheeks. Holding the picture close, I curled onto my side and tried to remember why we’d been so happy in those pictures.

* * *

A few hours later, I dragged myself to the sink and splashed cold water over my face. Tears still lingered in my eyes, but I drew in a deep, steadying breath as I pulled my hoodie on and tugged my hair back into a messy ponytail.

Downstairs, I searched for Olivia. After viewing those pictures, I kind of wanted to spend some time with her. The low hum of the TV drew me to the largest of the recreation rooms in the mansion. My steps were slow and light as I treaded to the archway of the room.