Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
Ryan was laughing, his arm thrown over my shoulder, his face tanned and handsome under the bright June sun.
I reached up and took the frame down, the metal cool against my fingers.
“Do you want me to pack the heavy ones?” Shaun asked, appearing in the doorway with a roll of bubble wrap.
“I can do the photos,” I said, turning the frame over to slide the black backing out.
The paper behind the glass was slightly stuck, and when I pulled it free, a small corner of the wedding portrait tore, leaving a tiny white gap where Ryan’s shoulder had been.
“I will put them in this flat box,” I said, setting the torn photo onto the dining table.
The next frame was of the triplets, taken at the hospital when they were only three days old, their tiny red faces peeping out from identical white caps.
They looked so small and fragile in the picture, three little packages that had arrived before we were ready for them.
