She's generally so sensible and understanding. It's difficult to be furious with her. "No, it's OK. I'm sad. Remain." I pull my legs up, preparing for her. "What are you concealing?" I inquire. "I presented to you a present. I figured it would influence you to feel less forlorn, however now I'm not entirely certain." She hauls a confined photo from in the face of her good faith. My heart crushes inside my chest. It's an old photo of the four of us—me, my mother and father and sibling—remaining on a shoreline, somewhere tropical. The sun has set behind us and whoever took the photo utilized the glimmer thus our appearances are splendid, relatively shining, against the obscuring sky.