Where are you, Mommy? Why did you let me go? Did Daddy do the same thing to you that he did to Ava's mother and the others? Will I ever see you, talk to you?
There was no reply. She became simply a photograph again, flat and cold. There was nothing to hug, no cheeks to kiss, no scent of hair to smell, and no lips to feel on my cheeks. Yet I embraced the photograph and held it against my heart.
The sound of footsteps jolted me. I quickly hid the picture and turned just as Ava opened my door.
"Who are you talking to?" she demanded.
"Talking? No one. Who's here to talk to?"
"I was sure I heard you talking," she said. I should have remembered how keen her hearing was now.
"I was probably thinking aloud," I admitted.
"You weren't on the cell phone?"
"What? Hardly," I said.
She continued to stare suspiciously.
"Ava, I left it in the kitchen," I said. "Thanks for reminding me."
"Why was it in the kitchen?"
