JUNEJanice stared at the photograph for another few seconds then she slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t remember this.” The word landed softly.I swallowed. “That’s okay,” I replied with a smile… at least I tried to smile. I turned the page and in that picture was my parents, young and happy. My mother was laughing while my father looked at her, I remembered that picture and I remembered thinking they looked like they belonged together.“This was taken before I started school,” I said. “Dad said you hated taking pictures.”Janice looked at the photograph. “You look happy.”“We were,” I replied before turning to another page.There I was between them, my mother’s hand rested on my shoulder and my father’s arm was around both of us. For years, that picture had been one of the hardest things for me to look at, now I couldn’t stop staring at it.“My mother used to cook all the time,” I whispered. “She loved this particular herbal chicken soup but I hated it.” A smile pulled at my lips.
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