Amelia POV

The morning after finding the photograph, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The image—my image—haunted me. The man with his arm around me, the words “To my firefly — Always yours, M.”

Who was he? Why did my chest ache every time I pictured his face?

I sat at the kitchen table, stirring my coffee long after it had gone cold. Luke’s laughter drifted from the backyard, a sound that normally warmed me. But today, it only reminded me of how fragile my world ...