………….

I don’t know why, but after I took the picture off the wall, something made me remove it from its flimsy plastic frame. So many pictures had adorned that wall. A collage of dusty, faded memories. I’d packed all the others into a cardboard box, not yet sure, what to do with them. I didn’t really want them, but I knew they had meant a lot to her. She’d often stare at them, with distant eyes, lost in thought.

I ran my hand over the aged photo paper, turning it over. It’s back stained with spots of sepia. Yet the words scrawled in cursive were surprisingly legible.

“They say that a tree can tell a story. If that’s true, each and every one of these trees could bear witness to what I’ve kept secret for most of my life. One day these pictures will tell the story I never had the courage to”.

I looked to the box on the floor, and with a little apprehension leaned over and pulled out another picture. Removing the backing of the frame I was met with more of her familiar handwriting. The entire back filled with what would turn out to be another segment of a disturbing puzzle. Which once pieced together would change my entire reality.