Sitting up and releasing myself from Jace’s grasp, I reached forward and picked up the photo to inspect it more clearly. It was an old photo of a woman, sitting with a baby on her lap, and I wondered who it was.
“You don’t have to tell me, but who is that in the photo?” I lightly asked, scanning the picture.
“My mum,” Jace whispered, and the answer surprised me.
“Your mum?” I echoed. “Is that you on her lap?”
“Yes.” He nodded, with his eyes becoming watery.
“Where is she now?”
“Dead,” came his reply.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. That’s a lovely picture of you both.”
“None of it was lovely,” he replied, standing up and picking his glass up from the coffee table.
Venturing over to the side of the room and refilling his glass of brandy, he then put the top of the
