On the day I left the hospital, Julian came to take me home himself.
Rocky must still have been frightened by what had happened. He clung to me the entire way and refused to let go.
That evening, I put our son to bed and returned to the master bedroom.
Our wedding portrait was hanging slightly crooked.
When I reached up to straighten it, my knuckles accidentally brushed a hidden latch behind the frame.
The frame came loose, and a thick stack of photographs slid out.
I stared at them.
Every photograph was of me at a different age.
Me in my high school uniform.
Me working at the university library.
Me running across campus in the rain with my books clutched to my chest.
There was even one of me secretly slipping an envelope into a boy's backpack.
That had happened a long time ago
