Amelia’s POV
I stare at the photograph as if it holds the answer to every unanswered question in my head.
The image, old and weathered at the edges, stays plastered to the wall, but the clarity of the woman’s expression is undeniable.
To the left was another photo of the same lady sitting in a garden, sunlight framing her delicate face as she looked down at the baby cradled in her arms.
A baby with obvious dark brown eyes, round cheeks, and a faint dimple on her left cheek.
Looking closely, I slowly realize who it is. It's me…
But for some reason, the woman holding me looked like someone I’d never seen before. Her smile is soft and maternal yet I find it hard to remember. A quiet sadness settles in her eyes or maybe I'm projecting. Maybe it's my own sadness bleeding into the photo.
