I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph.
My mother.
Damiano’s father.
Standing beside each other like they had known each other for years.
By morning, I was exhausted and angry.
Mostly angry.
I walked downstairs and found Daniel sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee in his hands.
He looked better than he had the night before, but there was still a bruise forming along his cheek.
“How are you feeling?”
He looked up.
“Like I got kidnapped.”
I smiled despite myself.
“At least you’re still making jokes.”
“Someone has to.”
I sat beside him.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at me.
“Did you find anything?”
I knew exactly what he meant.
“The photograph.”
His expression became serious.
“I saw it.”
“Mom knew them.”
