If I have a memory about my mother, I vaguely remember. I was so young when my mother and father had their own struck of life. All I can remember is her face, and that’s because of the single photo she has with me.

I was shaking when I held the tiny photo beside the magazine that Angelo had given me. The woman at the magazine looks a bit different than my mother. She’s well dressed and her hair is up to her shoulders. She’s a bit slim as well compare to mom. But seeing her laugh lines ...