Wren

Lined along the walls are pictures. Pictures of my dad, of me, of Ray…of my mom that left when I was barely five.

They’re so many, taken from different angles on different days…so many years ago.

My steps falter the closer I walk toward the pictures.

Squinting, I’m able to make out my name beneath my pictures including Ray’s and my dad’s. A large, bold ‘X’ strikes across my dad’s face in red marker.

While Ray and I have large, black question marks at the top of our ...