A Photograph of Love

After her father’s funeral, Lena stood alone in his quiet bedroom, unsure what she

was looking for. The room still smelled faintly of his aftershave and old books. She opened the bedside

drawer to clear it out, expecting receipts or spare change. Instead,

she found a single photograph. It was her at eight years old, missing a front

tooth, hair tangled by the wind, laughing so hard her eyes were nearly

closed. The photo was worn, edges soft from being handled too often.

On the back, written in her father’s familiar handwriting, were the words: “I never framed

this because I carried it everywhere.” Lena’s breath caught. Growing up, she had always believed