I could not take my eyes off the photograph.
The paper trembled slightly between my fingers while I stared at the faded image, and I found myself searching every tiny detail as though the answers to my entire childhood had been hidden there all along.
My mother stood near the center of the room with a tired smile on her face, and despite the poor quality of the photograph, I could still recognize the warmth in her eyes.
I recognized myself immediately.
The frightened little girl standing beside her looked much smaller than I remembered, and one of my hands was wrapped tightly around the hand of the young boy who had grown into the man sitting beside me on the park bench.
Asset Twelve.
For several long seconds neither of us spoke because neither of us trusted ourselves to break the si
