Seraphina's Point Of View
The photo vibrated against my skin, a thin piece of glossy paper that suddenly carried the weight of a mountain. I looked from my mother's frozen smile in the garden to the man standing before me. For a second, the room spun on a tilted axis, and I had to steady myself against the desk's edge.
"Why do you have my mother's picture?" The whisper escaped my lips, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else… someone much smaller and far more terrified. My hands began to shake so violently that the photo's edges blurred into watercolor streaks. The trembling spread up my arms, into my shoulders, settling like ice in my chest.
"Are you a stalker? Is that what this is? Some sick obsession?" Each question came faster than the last, my pitch rising with every word. My throat tightened, making it harder to breathe. "What are you doing with my mother's private memories?"
