Olivia

The older woman was looking at me with her eyes glazed over, as if she were looking at someone she didn't even know; she even frowned a little in confusion, but it was really her—it was the woman in the picture from the family photo album of Aunt Rosalyn; I could recognize her.

“Mommy…” I approached her, kneeling in front of her, holding her hand as I looked at her with deep eyes and emotion. “It’s me, Mom, Olivia. You don't remember me..?" I was so emotional that all ...