Forgotten Images
The chest held little: old military magazines, ordinary medals wrapped in felt, a hardbound notebook. Flipping it open, a black-and-white photo slipped out, fluttering to the floor. I picked it up. Yellowed, curling at the edges. A young woman stood on a wildflower-strewn hillside, smiling at the camera in a faded floral dress. Her smile was radiant sunshine. My blood seemed to freeze. This woman... her features, that familiar smile... bore an uncanny, striking resemblance to Sara! Recognition jolted through me like a current.
The Photo's Back
The photo slipped from my fingers. I snatched it back, turning it over. Faded, elegant blue ink read: "To my dearest Robert, may this smile always be with you. Forever yours, Elizabeth." The air vanished. Elizabeth... My mother's name! This Sara-lookalike was my mother? This stranger's face belonged to the mother I never knew? And Sara... I clenched the photo, its sharp edge digging into my palm, unable to suppress the icy dread coiling deep inside.
Notebook Revelations
Trembling, I opened the notebook. Mostly blank. Only the earliest pages held faded, ink-blurred writing. Father's script, jagged, drunken: "Elizabeth pregnant? Mine? Impossible. Says not mine. Leaving..." "Gone. Vanished. Where? The child?" "Hate her. Can't fucking forget." "Maybe dead. Maybe..." Fragmented, incoherent, saturated with pain, doubt, despair. The last lines were violently scratched out, ink gouging the paper. I collapsed onto the dusty attic floor, chilled to the bone.
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