But then Will picks up the framed photo on my dresser—the last picture ever taken of my entire family before my parents died—and my feet move in his direction. He stares down at it and I know what he’s seeing: three happy kids lined up in front of two beaming parents; and me, only three years old, on my mom’s hip and smiling up at her instead of the camera. “That’s the last photo that was taken.” Will looks down at me over his shoulder and his gaze holds mine. “I’m sorry, Annie.” I shrug. “It was a long time ago.” “But I’m sure it still hurts.”
