So I got in my car, placed the photograph on the passenger seat, and drove straight to her house.
Confrontation
I arrived just before sunset. Sitting in the car, I wondered if I was about to make a mistake. Then I walked up to the door and knocked.
It took longer than I expected for it to open. When it did, my aunt stood there leaning heavily on a cane. Her hair was completely gray, her face thinner, lined with years of carrying things alone.
She stared at me for a moment. “Anna,” she said finally. Not surprised. Just tired.
I nodded. “Hi.”
She stepped aside and let me in.
We stood in silence in the entryway. My heart pounded. Without a word, I reached into my bag and handed her the photograph.
The moment she saw it, her hand flew to her mouth. She sank into the nearest chair, the photo shaking in her fingers, her eyes filling instantly.
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