“Those need sorting,” Janet muttered to herself as she passed the dusty collection of photos. Her only connection to a mother she barely knew; to a life she yearned for.
Stirring the pile, Janet chose one photo and wondered: “Is that me, in the arms of my mum?”
So many strangers, who might not be. It was disquieting and intriguing!
Fear, her constant friend, hollered “Don’t ask; don’t seek. They won’t want you!”
Hope, a new quieter voice, whispered “Love is worth the effort!”
Trembling, she turned the photo and read out loud “Sister Annie, with Janet, 1953”.
Aunty and child.