Suddenly, I heard Rose’s voice behind me.
“Oh, you found the old photos, dear? That was back when everything was… changed.”
I turned around. She was standing in the garage doorway.
“The woman in this photo… Her name’s Rose… That’s you?”
“Some things never go away, even when you try not to remember them… You look so much like me at that age.”
“Like you, Rose?”
“Not now, sweetheart. I need to take my medicine.”
She turned and departed, leaving me with that box of photos.
What was she hiding? And who was she really to Mr. Sloan?
My head was spinning.
If Mr. Sloan had a daughter, why didn’t she come to his funeral?
Why Rose? Why me?
Why did her eyes look at me like that, as if she understand something I didn’t?
I had to explore the truth. Because maybe… it was my truth, too.
***
The following rainy evening, I rapped on Rose’s door.
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