The late afternoon sun slanted through the living room window. Loretta knelt by the low cabinet, a soft cloth in her hand, wiping away dust.
Her fingers paused, brushing against something cold and smooth beneath the clutter. Fingertips curling around an old photo frame.
She pulled it out gently, the glass was scratched and clouded, the edges of the frame chipped with age.
Inside, two teenagers stared back, Martin with his unruly hair, smirking and her staring at him with her pink cheeks.
Her gaze lingered on the photo, tracing the faded edges, the light catching on the scratches like whispers from the past.
Her fingertips traced the faint scratches on the wooden frame, her pulse quickening.
A faint tightening gripped her chest, tumbling through memories.
Flashback
The high schoo
