“All of it.”
Mrs. Parker finally spoke.
“I didn’t realize what the clipping was.”
Sophie looked at her.
Mrs. Parker’s face reddened.
“I saw the article about the accident and thought it wasn’t appropriate to display something about two people dying beside the other children’s family photographs.”
Sophie frowned.
“But it’s not a picture of them dying.”
“No.”
“It’s a picture of my mom and dad.”
Mrs. Parker looked down.
“You’re right.”
That evening, my husband sat beside Sophie on our bedroom floor while I took down the box.
Sophie recognized it immediately.
“So that’s where you got the clipping,” I said.
She nodded.
“You climbed up there?”
Another nod.
My husband gave her a look.
“We’ll discuss the climbing later.”
For the first time all day, Sophie smiled.
Then I opened the box.
There were fewer things than I remembered.
Three photographs.
A hospital bracelet with Sophie’s birth name.
A tiny knitted hat.
Several envelopes tied with a faded blue ribbon.
And one photograph I’d completely forgotten.
Richard sat in an armchair, younger than I remembered him, holding a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.
Sophie.
