Elena could not breathe.
Bring her back home.
The words blurred before her eyes as though the room itself had begun to move.
She reached out with trembling fingers and touched the edge of the golden frame.
The paint was cracked with age. Dust clung to the carved corners, untouched for years.
But the handwriting beneath the date looked fresh.
Someone had written those words long after the photograph had been taken.
Someone had come into this room.
Someone who knew she would one day stand here.
A cold shiver ran through her.
She looked again at the little girl beneath the camellia trees.
The smile.
The eyes.
The small birthmark beneath her left ear.
There was no mistake.
The child was her.
Twenty years ago.
Long before she had ever met Ethan.
Long before she had become Elen
