Ethan handled that envelope the way people handle the last possessions of the dead.
He slid out a photograph.
Then he placed it beside the one from the box.
The same teenage girl.
The same baby.
The same porch step.
The same angle of sunlight across my mother’s cheek.
The copies had aged differently. Ethan’s was darker, with a crease through one corner. The photograph from the box had faded toward yellow. But there was no question they came from the same negative.
I sat back.
A hard pressure began