When Aubrey came back, I was organizing some photos.

Last year, my father had accompanied me on a trip, and we had taken many pictures that I never got around to printing. Now, I was using the printer to bring them to life, carefully laminating each one.

“Bailee.” Aubrey walked in, the scent of earth clinging to him.

Instinctively, I glanced at his shoes—they were exactly the same as the ones in last night’s photo.

I continued sorting the photos, saying nothing.

Aubrey dropped his backpack and came over, kneeling in front of me, reaching out to take my hand.

I shifted away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what happened...