Behind it was another photograph.
Nothing was written on either picture.
Frank had carried both daughters with him every day.
He had never replaced Miley with me.
He had never loved me because he had forgotten her.
He had loved me while remembering exactly how much love could cost.
He had never replaced Miley with me.
***
That evening, I returned home.
My daughter sat at the kitchen table, waiting for me.
“Is Grandpa coming back?”
I sat beside her.
“No, sweetheart.”
Her face crumpled. I held her until the crying passed.
“Is Grandpa coming back?”
Then I opened the drawer beside the stove.
The old metal star cutter lay near the back, scratched and darkened by years of Sunday mornings.
I mixed flour, eggs, milk, cinnamon, and chopped apples.
My daughter watched me pour the batter inside the little star.
“Why did Grandpa always make them this shape, Mom?”
