Inside were photographs from foundation events.
He turned three pages.
Then four.
And there Daniel was.
Younger.
Healthy.
Laughing at something outside the frame.
For a moment, the entire room disappeared.
I touched the edge of the photograph.
“Oh.”
Beside him stood a younger Adrian.
No tailored severity.
No perfectly controlled expression.
His tie was crooked. His sleeves were rolled up. He looked annoyed by the camera.
Daniel looked delighted.
“What was happening here?” I asked.
“Your husband had just informed me that nobody trusted a man who wore a tie while painting a recreation center.”
A wet laugh escaped me.
“That sounds exactly like him.”
“He handed me a paint roller and ruined my shoes.”
I looked at Adrian.
“And you let him?”
“No. He did it before I could stop him.”
That made me laugh harder.
I covered my mouth, suddenly aware of Mia sleeping nearby.
When I lowered my hand, Adrian was watching me.
Not with sympathy.
With something more difficult to name.
“I haven’t heard a new Daniel story in years,” I said.
“You should have.”
The answer was so quiet I almost missed it.
I looked down at the photograph again.
“You really remember him?”
“Yes.”
“After only six months?”
“Some people are memorable.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
A small sound came from the sofa.
Mia shifted beneath the blanket.
We both turned automatically.
She stayed asleep.
The moment changed.
I closed the portfolio gently.
“Thank you for showing me.”
“There are copies. You can have that one.”
“I’d like that.”
I lifted the photograph.
Mia would love it.
Then I noticed writing on the back.
At first, I assumed it was a date.
I turned it over.
The handwriting was Daniel’s.
I knew it instantly.
Four short lines had been written in blue ink.
**Kane—**
**Someday you’re going to discover that being needed and being loved are not the same thing.**
**Try not to wait too long.**
**—D.F.**
My breath caught.
I read it again.
Then I looked at Adrian.
He was no longer smiling.
“What did he mean?”
Adrian’s eyes settled on the photograph in my hand.
