Later that night, Taylor moved the photograph. She didn’t move it awa. She moved it closer. From the desk to the narrow space beside her pillow, where she could see it without sitting up.
She told herself she was going to get used to it. She wanted to be able to normalize it and stop the reaction before it could take hold again.
That was the reason. Or at least the version of it she allowed herself to think.
She lay on her side, facing the wall, the photograph just within her line of sight. In the dim light, the details softened slightly, edges blurring just enough to make the image feel less sharp, less real, but it wasn’t enough.
Her eyes stayed on it for a while, tracing the lines of his face. Comparing it to Andrew without really meaning to. Finding matches, separating, matching ag
