The house was full of photos. Frank used to complain about it all the time: the walls they filled, the clutter they made on every surface. But after their second pregnancy failed, he had come downstairs one night in the week that followed and found Marcie sitting at the kitchen table, framing even more snaps from their albums. He had asked her why, and she had replied that life was full of shitty moments, so the perfect ones deserved wall space.
